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PRIVATE  LIFE 

VOLUME  III 


LIMITED   TO   ONE   THOUSAND   COMPLETE  COPIES 


NO. 


COLONEL  MIGNON  AND  DUMAY 


The   next  day  he   accompanied  his  master  upon 
the  ship   The   Modeste   sailing  for  Constantinople. 
There  on  the  stern  of  the  ship,  the  Breton  asked: 
"What  are  your  last  orders,  my  colonel?" 
"Let  no  man  approach   the  Chalet!"  the  father 
exclaimed,  suppressing  his  tears  with  difficulty. 


THE    NOVELS 


OF 


HONORE  DE  BALZAC 


NOW   FOR  THE   FIRST  TIME 
COMPLETELY   TRANSLATED    INTO    ENGLISH 


MODESTE  MIGNON 

BY  GERTRUDE  CHRISTIAN  FOSD1CK 


WITH    FIVE    ETCHINGS    BY    EUGENE    DECISY, 
AFTER   PAINTINGS   BY   PIERRE   VIDAL 


IN  ONE  VOLUME 


PRINTED  ONLY  FOR  SUBSCRIBERS  BY 

GEORGE   BARRIE   &   SON,   PHILADELPHIA 


COPYRIGHTED,    1896,   BY  G.   B.   A   SON 


. 


?Q 


MODESTE  MIGNON 


189938 


TO  A  POLISH  LADY 

Daughter  of  an  enslaved  land,  an  angel  through 
love,  through  fancy  a  demon,  in  faith  a  child,  old 
through  experience,  in  brain  a  man,  in  heart  a 
woman,  through  hope  a  giant,  a  mother  through 
suffering  and  a  poet  through  thy  dreams : — to  thee, 
who  art  still  Beauty  itself,  belongs  this  work,  in 
which  thy  love,  thy  fancy,  thy  faith,  thy  experi- 
ence, thy  grief,  thy  hope  and  thy  dreams  are  as  the 
warp  which  carries  a  woof  less  brilliant  than  the 
poetry  locked  in  thy  soul ;  whose  expression  ani- 
mating thy  face,  is  for  those  who  love  thee,  what 
the  symbols  of  a  lost  language  are  for  scholars. 

DE  BALZAC. 


(3) 


MODESTE   MIGNON 


About  the  beginning  of  the  month  of  October,  1829, 
Monsieur  Simon-Babylas  Latournelle,  a  notary, 
went  up  from  Havre  to  Ingouville  arm  in  arm  with 
his  son,  and  accompanied  by  his  wife,  near  whom 
walked,  like  a  page,  the  head  clerk  of  the  office,  a 
little  hunchback  named  Jean  Butscha.  When  these 
four  persons — two  of  whom  made  this  journey 
every  evening — arrived  at  the  bend  of  the  road 
which  turns  back  upon  itself  like  those  which  the 
Italians  call  corniches,  the  notary,  from  the  height 
of  a  terrace,  looked  about  him  behind  and  before, 
to  make  sure  that  no  one  could  hear  him  and  then, 
as  an  extra  precaution,  lowered  his  voice. 

"Exupere,"  he  said  to  his  son,  "try  to  execute  the 
little  manoeuvre  which  I  am  about  to  entrust  to  you, 
with  intelligence;  and  without  trying  to  understand 
it;  but  if  you  divine  it,  I  command  you  to  throw  it 
into  that  Styx,  which  every  notary  and  every  man 
destined  for  the  law,  ought  to  have  within  himself 
for  the  secrets  of  others.  After  having  presented 
your  respectful  homage  to  Madame  and  Mademoiselle 
Mignon,  to  Monsieur  and  Madame  Dumay  and  to 
Monsieur  Gobenheim,  if  he  is  at  the  Chalet;  when 

(5) 


6  MODESTE  MIGNON 

silence  is  re-established,  Monsieur  Dumay  will  take 
you  into  a  corner  and  you  can  look  attentively 
at  Mademoiselle  Modeste — I  will  allow  you  that — 
all  the  time  that  he  is  speaking  to  you.  My  worthy 
friend  will  ask  you  to  go  out  and  take  a  walk,  and 
come  back  in  about  an  hour,  about  nine  o'clock, 
with  an  excited  air;  and  trying  to  imitate  the 
breathing  of  a  man  who  has  been  running,  say  then, 
in  his  ear  very  low,  but  nevertheless  so  that  Made- 
moiselle Modeste  can  hear  you:  'The  young  man 
is  here.'  " 

Exupere  was  going  the  next  day  to  Paris  to  begin 
his  studies.  This  near  departure  had  decided 
Latournelle  to  propose  his  son  to  his  friend  Dumay 
as  an  accomplice  in  the  important  conspiracy  which 
this  order  was  to  reveal. 

"Is  Mademoiselle  Modeste,  then,  suspected  of 
having  an  intrigue?"  Butscha  timidly  asked  his 
patron. 

"Nonsense,  Butscha!"  replied  Madame  Latour- 
nelle, again  taking  her  husband's  arm. 

Madame  Latournelle,  the  daughter  of  the  recorder 
of  an  inferior  court  for  civil  causes,  considered  her- 
self sufficiently  authorized  by  her  birth  to  call  her- 
self the  issue  of  a  parliamentary  family.  This 
pretension  already  indicates  why  this  woman,  a 
little  too  red-faced  for  refinement,  tries  to  affect  the 
majesty  of  the  tribunal  whose  decrees  are  scribbled 
by  her  father.  She  takes  snuff,  holds  herself  as 
stiff  as  a  ramrod,  poses  as  a  woman  of  importance, 
and  resembles  a  mummy  which  has  been,  for  the 


MODESTE  MIGNON  7 

moment,  galvanized  into  life.  She  tries  to  give 
her  sharp  voice  an  aristocratic  tone ;  but  she  scarcely 
succeeds  in  covering  up  the  faults  of  her  education. 
Her  social  utility  seems  indisputable  when  one  ob- 
serves her  bonnets,  covered  with  flowers,  the  masses 
of  frizzled  hair  on  her  temples  and  the  dresses  that 
she  chooses.  Where  would  the  merchants  place 
these  productions  if  there  were  no  Madame  Latour- 
nelles?  All  the  absurdities  of  this  worthy  woman, 
essentially  charitable  and  pious  as  she  was,  would 
have  perhaps  passed  unperceived,  if  Nature,  which 
sometimes  amuses  itself  in  producing  these  droll 
creatures,  had  not  given  her  the  height  of  a  drum- 
major  to  make  the  inventions  of  this  provincial 
spirit  more  conspicuous.  She  had  never  been  out  of 
Havre, she  believed  in  the  infallibility  of  Havre.  She 
bought  everything  there,  and  she  had  her  dresses  made 
there;  she  called  herself  a  woman  to  her  finger- 
ends  ;  she  venerated  her  father  and  adored  her  hus- 
band. The  little  Latournelle  had  the  courage  to 
wed  this  girl,  already  arrived  at  the  anti-matri- 
monial age  of  thirty-three,  and  had  even  had  a  son. 
As  he  could  have  obtained  in  many  other  ways  the 
sixty  thousand  francs  dot  given  by  the  recorder, 
people  attributed  his  uncommon  intrepidity  to  a  de- 
sire to  escape  the  invasion  of  the  Minotaur,  against 
whom  his  personal  qualifications  would  have  been 
an  insufficient  guarantee,  had  he  been  guilty  of  the 
imprudence  of  bringing  home  a  young  and  pretty 
wife.  The  notary  had,  however,  recognized  the 
good  qualities  of  Mademoiselle  Agnes — thus  she  was 


8  MODESTE  MIGNON 

called — and  realized  that  a  woman's  beauty  soon 
passes  and  vanishes  in  the  eyes  of  her  husband. 
As  to  the  insignificant  youth,  on  whom  the  recorder 
bestowed  his  own  Norman  name  in  baptism,  Madame 
Latournelle  is  still  so  surprised  at  becoming  a 
mother  at  thirty-five  years  and  seven  months  that 
she  would  still  provide  him,  were  it  necessary,  with 
her  breast  and  her  milk — a  hyperbole  which  will 
give  an  idea  of  her  motherly  devotion. 

"How  beautiful  my  son  is!" — she  said  quite  nat- 
urally, showing  him  to  her  little  friend  Modeste, 
when  her  handsome  Exupere  walked  before  them 
when  going  to  mass. 

"He  resembles  you,"  replied  Modeste  Mignon, 
just  as  she  might  have  said,  "what  wretched 
weather!" 

The  silhouette  of  this  person,  as  an  accessory, 
seemed  necessary  in  saying  that  Madame  Latour- 
nelle had  for  three  years  chaperoned  the  young  girl 
for  whom  the  notary  and  his  friend  Dumay  were  to 
arrange  one  of  those  snares  called  mouse-traps  in  the 
Pkysiologie  du  Manage. 

As  for  Latournelle,  imagine  a  good  little  man,  as 
crafty  as  the  purest  probity  permits.  Any  stranger 
seeing  this  odd  physiognomy,  which  is  so  familiar 
to  Havre,  would  take  him  for  a  sharper.  A  weak 
vision  forced  the  worthy  notary  to  wear  green 
glasses  to  protect  his  eyes,  which  were  always  in- 
flamed. Each  eyebrow,  ornamented  with  very  lit- 
tle hair,  surrounded  the  line  of  the  brown  shell  frame 
of  the  glasses  and  made  a  double  circle  about  his 


MODESTE  MIGNON  9 

eyes.  If  you  have  never  observed  the  effect  pro- 
duced by  these  two  circumferences  placed  one  above 
the  other,  upon  the  face  of  some  passer-by,  you 
cannot  imagine  how  such  a  face  misleads  you,  es- 
pecially when  pale  and  wrinkled  and  ending  in  a 
point  like  that  of  Mephistopheles — a  type  which 
painters  give  to  cats.  Such  is  the  picture  offered  by 
Babylas  Latournelle.  Above  those  atrocious  glasses 
a  bald  head  rises,  all  the  more  fantastic  because  of 
the  wig  which  covers  it.  This  wig  seems  to  be  en- 
dowed with  motion  and  is  never  in  the  same  place ; 
it  allows  the  white  locks  to  show  on  all  sides  and  is 
cut  very  unequally  in  front  Seeing  this  estimable 
Norman  dressed  in  black  like  a  coleopter,  mounted 
on  two  legs  like  two  pins,  and  knowing  him  to  be 
the  most  honest  fellow  in  the  world,  one  looks  in 
vain  for  the  reason  of  these  misleading  physiog- 
nomic traits. 

Jean  Butscha,  the  poor  natural  child  abandoned 
by  his  parents,  whom  the  recorder  Labrosse  and  his 
daughter  had  taken  care  of,  was  now  head  clerk  in 
the  notary's  office  by  virtue  of  hard  work.  He 
slept  and  ate  at  his  patron's  house  and  received  nine 
hundred  francs  salary.  With  no  semblance  of 
youth,  and  almost  a  dwarf,  Jean  made  Modeste  his 
idol,  indeed  he  would  have  given  his  life  for  her. 
This  poor  creature,  marked  by  small-pox,  whose 
eyes,  pressed  between  their  thick  lids,  seemed  like 
two  touch-holes  of  a  cannon,  with  frizzly  hair 
flattened  on  his  square  head,  and  embarrassed  by 
enormous  hands,  had  lived  since  he  was  seven  years 


10  MODESTE  MIGNON 

old  under  the  eye  of  charity — is  not  this  amply 
sufficient  to  explain  his  whole  being  to  you  ?  Silent, 
reserved,  of  exemplary  conduct,  religiously  in- 
clined, he  traveled  in  that  immense  expanse  called 
upon  the  map  of  the  heart:  Love-without-Hope, 
the  arid  and  sublime  steppes  of  Desire.  Modeste 
had  nicknamed  this  grotesque  little  clerk  her  Black 
Dwarf.  This  sobriquet  made  Butscha  read  Walter 
Scott's  romance  and  he  said  to  Modeste : 

"Would  you  like  to  have  a  rose  from  your 
mysterious  dwarf  for  the  day  of  danger  ?" 

Modeste  forthwith  plunged  the  soul  of  her  adorer 
into  his  slough  of  despond  by  one  of  those  terrible 
looks  which  young  girls  throw  on  men  who  do  not 
please  them.  Butscha  nicknamed  himself  the  clerc 
obscur  without  knowing  that  this  joke  had  its  origin 
in  the  scutcheons;  for  like  his  patroness  he  had 
never  been  out  of  Havre. 

Perhaps  it  is  necessary,  in  the  interest  of  those 
who  do  not  know  Havre,  to  say  a  word  in  expla- 
nation of  where  the  Latournelle  family  was  going, 
for  the  head  clerk  is  evidently  included  in  this  fam- 
ily. Ingouville  is  to  Havre  what  Montmartre  is  to 
Paris,  a  high  hill  at  the  foot  of  which  the  city 
spreads  itself,  with  this  difference,  that  the  sea  and 
the  Seine  surround  the  city  and  the  hill ;  that  Havre 
finds  itself  fatally  circumscribed  by  close  fortifica- 
tions and  that  the  mouth  of  the  river,  the  port,  the 
basins,  present  a  very  different  spectacle  from  the 
fifty  thousand  houses  of  Paris.  At  the  foot  of  Mont- 
martre rises  an  ocean  of  slate  roofs  with  its  seeming, 


MODESTE  MIGNON  II 

motionless  blue  billows;  at  Ingouville  one  sees,  as 
it  were,  the  mobile  billows  stirred  by  the  winds. 
This  eminence,  which  from  Rouen  to  the  sea  coasts 
the  river,  leaves  a  margin  more  or  less  narrow  be- 
tween it  and  the  waters.  It,  however,  certainly 
contains  the  treasures  of  the  picturesque,  with  its 
villages,  gorges,  dales,  and  fields  and  it  acquired  an 
immense  value  at  Ingouville  after  1816,  the  date 
when  the  prosperity  of  Havre  began. 

This  district  became  the  Auteuil,  the  Ville- 
d'Avray,  the  Montmorency  of  the  merchants,  who 
built  their  villas  one  above  the  other  on  this  amphi- 
theatre, to  breathe  the  air  of  the  sea  perfumed  by 
the  flowers  of  their  sumptuous  gardens.  These 
daring  speculators  rested  here  after  the  fatigues  of 
their  counting-rooms,  and  of  the  atmosphere  of  their 
city  houses  crowded  one  against  the  other  without 
space,  often  without  courtyards,  as  the  increase  of 
the  population  of  Havre,  the  inflexible  lines  of  its 
ramparts,  and  the  aggrandizements  of  the  docks  com- 
pelled them.  Indeed  what  sadness  seemed  to  rest 
in  the  heart  of  Havre  and  what  joy  at  Ingouville! 
The  law  of  social  development  has  caused  the 
Faubourg  de  Graville  to  spring  up  as  a  mushroom; 
to-day,  more  considerable  than  Havre,  it  extends  at 
the  foot  of  its  slope  like  a  serpent  On  the  ridge, 
Ingouville  has  only  one  street  and,  as  in  all  such 
cases,  the  houses  which  look  toward  the  Seine  have 
an  immense  advantage  over  those  on  the  other  side 
of  the  way,  whose  view  they  obstruct,  and  they 
have  the  air  of  standing  on  tiptoe  like  spectators 


12  MODESTE  MIGNON 

to  see  over  the  roofs  opposite.  Nevertheless,  there 
exist  here,  as  elsewhere,  certain  servitudes.  Some 
houses  situated  on  the  summit  occupy  a  superior 
position  or  enjoy  a  legal  right  to  the  view,  which 
obliges  the  neighbor  to  build  his  house  only  to  a 
given  height.  Then  the  capricious  rock  is  hollowed 
by  roads  which  render  the  amphitheatre  habitable, 
and  by  these  means  some  of  the  estates  obtain  a 
view  of  the  city,  the  river  or  the  sea.  Instead  of 
being  cut  perpendicularly,  the  hill  ends  abruptly  in 
a  cliff.  At  the  end  of  the  street  which  winds  to  the 
summit  the  ravines  are  seen  where  several  villages 
are  situated,  Sainte-Adresse, — two  or  three  Saints, 
I  don't  know  whom, — and  the  creeks  where  the 
ocean's  roar  is  heard.  This  almost  deserted  side  of 
Ingouville  forms  a  striking  contrast  to  the  beautiful 
villas  in  the  valley  of  the  Seine.  Do  they  fear  the 
winds  for  their  vegetation  ? — Whatever  it  may  be, 
the  tourist  on  the  steamboats  is  astonished  to  find 
the  side  of  Ingouville  to  the  west,  naked  and  barren, 
like  a  poor  man  in  rags  beside  a  rich  one  sumptu- 
ously dressed  and  perfumed. 

In  1829  one  of  the  last  houses  on  the  ocean  side, 
and  which  no  doubt  now  stands  about  the  middle  of 
Ingouville,  was  called,  and  is  perhaps  still,  The 
Chalet.  It  was  formerly  a  porter's  lodge  with  a 
little  garden  in  front.  The  owner  of  the  villa  to 
which  it  belonged — a  house  with  a  park,  gardens, 
aviaries,  hot-houses  and  meadows — took  a  fancy  to 
put  this  little  house  more  in  keeping  with  the  splen- 
dors of  his  own  abode  and  reconstruct  it  as  a  model 


MODESTE  MIGNON  13 

cottage.  He  separated  this  cottage  from  his  own 
lawn  ornamented  with  flower  beds,  which  formed 
the  terrace  of  his  villa,  by  a  low  wall,  along  the 
length  of  which  he  planted  a  hedge  to  conceal  it. 
Behind  the  cottage,  called  in  spite  of  him  the  Chalet, 
extended  orchards  and  kitchen  gardens.  This 
chalet,  which  had  neither  cows  nor  dairy,  had,  as 
enclosure  from  the  highway,  only  a  wooden  fence 
covered  with  a  luxuriant  hedge.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  way,  the  house  opposite, — subject  to  some 
rights  of  other  parties, — had  the  same  kind  of  fence 
and  hedge  which  allowed  the  chalet  a  view  of  Havre. 
This  little  house  was  the  despair  of  Monsieur 
Vilquin,  the  owner  of  the  villa;  and  this  is  the 
reason.  The  creator  of  this  place,  every  detail  of 
which  cried  aloud :  "Behold  our  millions  1 "  had  ex- 
tended his  park  far  enough  toward  the  country  so 
that,  as  he  said,  "his  gardeners  could  not  be  in  his 
pockets,"  and  that  when  finished,  the  chalet  could 
only  be  occupied  by  a  friend.  Monsieur  Mignon, 
the  former  owner,  was  very  fond  of  his  cashier  and 
this  story  will  prove  that  Dumay  returned  his  affec- 
tion; he  therefore  offered  him  this  dwelling.  A 
stickler  for  form,  Dumay  insisted  on  signing  a  lease 
for  twelve  years  at  three  hundred  francs'  rent  to  his 
employer  and  Monsieur  Mignon  signed  it  willingly, 
saying: 

"My  dear  Dumay,  remember  that  you  promise  to 
live  with  me  for  twelve  years." 

On  account  of  certain  events,  which  will  soon  be 
related,  the  property  of  Monsieur  Mignon,  formerly 


14  MODESTE  MIGNON 

the  richest  merchant  of  Havre,  was  sold  to  Vilquin, 
one  of  his  fellow  competitors.  In  the  joy  of  coming 
into  possession  of  the  celebrated  Mignon  villa  he 
forgot  to  demand  the  canceling  of  this  lease.  Du- 
may,  in  order  not  to  lose  the  sale,  would  have 
signed  anything  that  Vilquin  had  required,  but  the 
sale  once  made,  he  held  to  his  lease  with  a  ven- 
geance. He  remained,  as  it  were,  in  Vilquin's 
pocket,  in  the  heart  of  the  Vilquin  family,  watching 
Vilquin,  worrying  Vilquin,  the  veritable  gad-fly  of 
the  Vilquins.  Every  morning,  Vilquin  experienced 
great  annoyance  in  seeing  that  jewel  of  construction 
from  his  window,  that  chalet  which  cost  sixty  thou- 
sand francs  and  glittered  in  the  sun  like  a  ruby, — 
which  by  the  way  is  not  a  bad  comparison.  The 
architect  had  built  this  cottage  of  the  reddest  brick, 
pointed  in  white.  The  window  frames  were  painted 
a  bright  green,  and  the  woodwork  a  yellowish 
brown.  The  roof  overhung  several  feet  A  pretty 
open-work  gallery  surmounts  the  first  floor  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  facade  projects  a  veranda  with 
glass  sides.  The  ground  floor  contained  a  salon  and 
a  dining-room,  separated  from  each  other  by  the 
landing  of  a  wooden  staircase,  the  design  and  orna- 
ment of  which  is  of  elegant  simplicity.  The  kitchen 
is  behind  the  dining-room,  the  room  corresponding 
is  used  as  the  bed-chamber  of  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Dumay.  On  the  next  floor,  the  architect  has  pro- 
vided two  large  sleeping-rooms  with  dressing-rooms 
attached,  to  which  the  veranda  serves  as  a  salon ; 
then  above,  under  the  eaves,  which  resemble  two 


MODESTE  MIGNON  15 

cards  put  one  against  the  other,  two  servants'  rooms, 
lighted  by  a  round  window  in  the  mansard  roof,  but 
quite  spacious. 

Vilquin  had  been  petty  enough  to  build  a  wall  on 
the  side  toward  the  orchard  and  kitchen  garden,  and, 
on  account  of  this  meanness,  the  few  square  yards 
which  the  lease  left  to  the  Chalet  resembled  a  Pari- 
sian garden.  The  outbuildings,  constructed  and 
painted  in  a  manner  to  correspond  with  the  Chalet, 
are  set  against  the  wall  of  the  adjoining  property. 
The  interior  of  this  charming  habitation  is  in  har- 
mony with  the  exterior.  The  drawing-room,  with 
its  floor  inlaid  entirely  with  iron-wood,  presents  the 
wonders  of  a  painting  in  miniature  of  Chinese 
lacquer.  Many-colored  birds,  impossible  green  foli- 
age, and  fantastic  Chinese  designs  shine  out  from  a 
black  background  framed  in  gold.  The  dining-room 
is  entirely  covered  with  carved  Baltic  wood,  sculp- 
tured as  in  the  beautiful  Russian  cottages.  The 
small  antechamber  formed  by  the  landing  and  the 
staircase  wall  is  painted  like  old  wood  to  represent 
Gothic  designs.  The  bed-chambers,  hung  in 
chintz,  are  beautiful  in  their  costly  simplicity. 
The  room  in  which  the  cashier  and  his  wife  slept, 
is  wainscoted  and  ceiled  like  the  cabin  of  a  steam- 
boat These  caprices  of  the  owner  explain  Vil- 
quin's  rage;  he  would  have  liked  this  cottage  for  his 
daughter  and  son-in-law  to  live  in.  This  project 
being  known  to  Dumay  may  later  explain  his 
Breton  tenacity. 

The  entrance  to  the  Chalet  was  through  a  small 


16  MODESTE  MIGNON 

door  covered  with  iron  lattice- work,  the  iron  spikes 
of  which  were  some  inches  higher  than  the  fence 
and  hedge.  The  little  garden,  equal  in  size  to  an 
ostentatious  lawn,  was  now  full  of  flowers,  roses, 
dahlias,  the  most  beautiful  and  rarest  productions 
of  the  greenhouses;  for  the  lovely  little  green- 
house was  still  another  subject  of  Vilquin's  unrest, 
the  tasteful  conservatory,  the  so-called  conservatory 
of  madame,  belongs  to  the  Chalet  and  separates  the 
Vilquin  villa  from  it,  or,  if  you  prefer,  unites  it  to 
the  cottage.  Dumay  took  his  relaxation  from  his 
account-books  by  caring  for  this  conservatory,  the 
exotic  productions  of  which  made  one  of  Modeste's 
chief  pleasures. 

The  billiard-room  of  the  Vilquin  villa,  a  kind  of 
gallery,  formerly  communicated  with  this  conserva- 
tory by  an  immense  aviary  in  the  form  of  a  tower, 
but  since  the  construction  of  the  wall  which  de- 
prived him  of  the  view  of  the  orchard  Dumay  had 
walled  up  this  communicating  door. 

"Wall  for  wall,"  he  said. 

"You  and  Dumay  fight  each  other  with  walls!" 
said  the  merchants  to  Vilquin,  to  tease  him,  and 
every  day  on  Change  the  jealous  speculator  was 
saluted  with  a  new  pleasantry. 

In  1827,  Vilquin  offered  Dumay  a  salary  of  six 
thousand  francs  and  ten  thousand  francs  indemnity 
to  cancel  the  lease,  but  the  cashier  refused,  although 
he  had  only  a  thousand  crowns  from  Gobenheim, 
an  old  clerk  of  his  captain.  Dumay  was,  believe 
me,  a  Breton  planted  by  fate  in  Normandy.  Imagine 


MODESTE  MIGNON  17 

then  the  hatred  of  this  Norman  Vilquin  for  the 
tenants  of  the  Chalet;  Vilquin  worth  his  three  mil- 
lions! What  a  crime  of  treachery  to  millions,  thus 
to  demonstrate  to  the  rich  the  impotency  of  gold ! 
Vilquin, whose  despair  made  him  the  talk  of  Havre, 
had  just  proposed  and  Dumay  had  again  refused,  the 
entire  ownership  of  a  pretty  residence.  Havre 
began  to  grow  uneasy  over  this  obstinacy,  the  reason 
of  which  many  persons  found  in  this  phrase :  "Du- 
may is  a  Breton."  The  cashier  felt  that  Madame 
Mignon,  and  still  more,  Mademoiselle  Modeste, 
would  have  been  too  badly  situated  anywhere  else. 
His  two  idols  dwelt  in  a  temple  worthy  of  them, 
and  at  least  preserved  in  this  sumptuous  cottage,  in 
which  fallen  kings  could  have  kept  the  majesty  of 
surroundings,  a  sort  of  decorum  which  is  often 
wanting  to  those  who  have  been  reduced.  Perhaps 
the  reader  will  not  regret  having  known  in  advance 
both  Modeste's  place  of  abode  and  her  habitual 
society;  for  at  her  age,  people  and  things  have  as 
much  influence  upon  the  future  as  disposition  has, 
even  if  the  character  does  not  receive  any  indelible 
impressions  from  them. 


From  the  manner  in  which  the  Latournelles  en- 
tered the  Chalet,  a  stranger  might  well  have  sup- 
posed that  they  went  there  every  evening. 

"Here  already,  sir !"  said  the  notary,  when,  in 
in  the  salon,  he  noticed  Gobenheim,  a  young  banker 
of  Havre,  a  relative  of  Gobenheim-Keller,  the  head 
of  the  large  Paris  house. 

This  young  man  with  a  livid  face,  one  of  those 
blonds  with  black  eyes  in  whose  fixed  look  there  is 
something  fascinating,  as  temperate  in  his  speech  as 
in  his  living,  clothed  in  black,  thin  as  a  consump- 
tive, but  with  a  strong  frame,  cultivated  the  family 
of  his  former  master  and  his  cashier's  house  much 
less  from  affection  than  calculation.  They  played 
whist  there  for  two  cents  a  point,  and  full  dress  was 
not  necessary.  He  accepted  only  glasses  of 
sugared  water  and  was  not  obliged  to  return  any 
civilities  in  exchange.  This  apparent  devotion  to 
the  Mignons  led  people  to  believe  that  Gobenheim 
was  in  love  and  exempted  him  from  going  into  so- 
ciety in  Havre,  from  making  a  thousand  useless 
expenditures,  and  from  disarranging  the  economy 
of  his  domestic  life.  This  worshiper  of  the  golden 
calf  went  to  bed  every  night  at  half-past  ten  and 
rose  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Sure  of  the  dis- 
cretion of  Latournelle  and  Butscha,  Gobenheim  could 
analyze  knotty  questions  before  them,  submit  them 
(19) 


20  MODESTE  MIGNON 

to  the  gratuitous  advice  of  the  lawyer  and  reduce 
the  idle  stories  of  the  town  to  their  true  valuation. 
This  young  "gobbler-of-gold"  as  Butscha  called  him, 
belonged  to  that  class  of  bodies  which  chemistry 
calls  absorbents.  Since  the  catastrophe  which  over- 
whelmed the  house  of  Mignon,  where  he  had  been 
placed  by  the  Kellers  to  learn  maritime  commerce, 
no  one  at  the  Chalet  had  ever  asked  him  to  do  any- 
thing for  him,  not  even  a  simple  commission;  his 
reply  was  known.  This  fellow  regarded  Modeste 
as  he  would  have  examined  a  lithograph  worth  two 
cents. 

"He  is  one  of  the  pistons  of  that  immense  machine 
called  Commerce,"  poor  Butscha,  whose  intelligence 
betrayed  itself  by  words  timidly  thrown  out,  said  of 
him. 

The  four  Latournelles,  with  the  most  respectful 
deference  greeted  an  elderly  lady  dressed  in  black 
velvet,  who  did  not  rise  from  the  arm-chair  in 
which  she  was  seated,  both  her  eyes  being  covered 
with  the  yellow  film  produced  by  cataracts.  Ma- 
dame Mignon  may  be  described  in  a  single  phrase. 
She  attracted  notice  at  once  by  her  noble  look  of  the 
mother  of  a  family  whose  reproachless  life  defies  the 
blows  of  destiny,  but  whom,  nevertheless,  it  has 
taken  as  the  target  for  its  arrows ;  she  was  of  those 
who  form  the  numerous  tribe  of  Niobes.  Her  white 
hair,  carefully  brushed  and  curled,  became  her  cold, 
white  face,  like  those  of  the  burgomasters'  wives, 
painted  by  Mirevelt.  The  excessive  care  of  her 
toilet,  the  velvet  shoes,  the  lace  collar,  the  carefully 


MODESTE  MIGNON  21 

arranged  shawl,  everything  showed  Modeste's  solic- 
itude for  her  mother. 

When  the  moment  of  silence  mentioned  by  the 
notary,  occurred  in  the  pretty  drawing-room, 
Modeste,  who  was  seated  near  her  mother  embroid- 
ering a  fichu  for  her,  became  the  object  of  attention. 
This  curiosity  hidden  under  the  common  questions 
which  everyone  asks  when  making  a  call,  and  even 
those  who  see  each  other  every  day,  would  have 
betrayed  to  an  indifferent  person  the  domestic  plot 
meditated  against  the  young  girl ;  but  Gobenheim, 
more  than  indifferent,  remarked  nothing.  He 
busied  himself  lighting  the  candles  on  the  card-table. 
Dumay's  attitude  made  this  situation  terrible  for 
Butscha,  for  the  Latournelles  and  especially  for  Ma- 
dame Dumay,  who  knew  that  her  husband  Avas 
capable  of  shooting  Modeste's  lover  as  he  would  a 
mad  dog.  After  dinner  the  cashier  had  gone  to  walk 
followed  by  two  immense  Pyrenean  dogs,  which  he 
suspected  of  treachery  and  had  left  at  an  old  farm  of 
Monsieur  Mignon ;  then,  a  few  moments  before  the 
Latournelles  arrived,  he  had  taken  his  pistols  from 
his  bedside  and  placed  them  on  the  chimney-piece 
without  the  knowledge  of  Modeste.  The  young  girl 
did  not  pay  the  least  attention  to  all  these  prepara- 
tions, which,  were  at  least  peculiar. 

Although  short,  thickset,  pock-marked,  with  a 
very  low  voice  and  an  air  of  listening  to  himself, 
this  Breton,  a  former  lieutenant  of  the  guard,  pre- 
sented such  resolution,  such  courage  plainly  written 
on  his  face,  that  during  twenty  years  in  the  army  no 


22  MODESTE  MIGNON 

one  had  ever  dared  to  joke  him.  His  small  calm 
blue  eyes  resembled  two  pieces  of  steel.  His  man- 
ner, the  expression  of  his  face,  his  speech,  his  bear- 
ing— all  were  in  accord  with  his  short  name — 
Dumay.  Besides,  his  well-known  strength  caused 
him  to  dread  no  aggression.  He  was  capable  of 
killing  a  man  with  a  blow  of  his  fist,  indeed  he  had 
done  this  great  feat  at  Bautzen,  when  he  found  him- 
self behind  his  company,  unarmed  and  face  to  face 
with  a  Saxon. 

Just  now  the  firm  and  gentle  expression  of  the 
man  had  reached  a  tragical  sublimity;  his  lips, 
pale  as  his  skin,  indicated  an  inward  convulsion 
controlled  by  his  Breton  energy;  a  slight  moisture 
which  everyone  saw  and  supposed  to  be  cold,  made 
his  forehead  wet  The  lawyer  knew  from  all  this 
that  a  tragedy  in  the  Court  of  Assizes  might  be  the 
result.  In  short,  the  cashier  was  playing,  on  account 
of  Modeste  Mignon,  a  part  in  which  were  engaged 
honor  and  faith — sentiments  of  an  importance  supe- 
rior to  those  of  mere  social  bonds,  and  resulting  from 
one  of  those  compacts  of  which,  in  case  of  tragedy, 
Heaven  alone  can  be  judge. 

Most  dramas  exist  in  the  ideas  which  we  form 
about  things.  The  events  which  seem  dramatic  to 
us  are  but  the  subjects  which  our  own  minds  con- 
vert into  tragedy  or  comedy  according  to  the  bent  of 
our  natures. 

Madame  Latournelle  and  Madame  Dumay,  charged 
to  observe  Modeste,  showed  something  unnatural  in 
their  manner,  a  trembling  of  the  voice,  which  the 


MODESTE  MIGNON  23 

accused  did  not  notice  in  the  least,  so  much  was  she 
absorbed  in  her  embroidery. 

Modeste  placed  every  needle  full  of  cotton  with 
such  accurate  precision  as  to  be  the  despair  of  all 
embroiderers.  Her  face  expressed  the  pleasure  she 
received  in  embroidering  a  petal  which  finished  the 
flower  she  was  making.  The  dwarf,  seated  be- 
tween his  master  and  Gobenheim  and  barely  re- 
straining his  tears,  considered  how  he  could  reach 
Modeste  in  order  to  whisper  two  words  of  advice  in 
her  ear.  In  taking  her  place  before  Madame  Mignon, 
Madame  Latournelle  had,  with  the  diabolical  intelli- 
gence of  a  bigot,  isolated  Modeste.  Madame  Mignon, 
silent  from  her  blindness,  paler  than  was  her 
custom,  also  showed  that  she  knew  the  trial  to 
which  Modeste  was  to  be  subjected.  Perhaps  at 
this  last  moment  she  blamed  herself  for  this  strata- 
gem, although  she  had  found  it  necessary.  Hence 
her  silence — her  heart  wept 

Exupere,  the  trigger  of  the  trap,  was  entirely  ig- 
norant of  the  piece  in  which  chance  had  given  him 
a  part  Gobenheim,  through  his  natural  character- 
istics, remained  in  a  state  of  indifference  equal  to 
that  shown  by  Modeste.  This  contrast  between 
the  complete  ignorance  of  some,  and  the  agitated 
attention  of  others  would  have  been  interesting  to  a 
well-informed  onlooker.  Authors  make  use  of  these 
effects  to-day  more  than  ever  and  with  good  reason ; 
as  nature  at  all  times  is  stronger  than  they.  Here 
you  will  see  social  nature,  which  is  a  nature  within 
nature,  providing  itself  the  pleasure  of  making  a 


24  MODESTE  MIGNON 

story  more  interesting  than  a  romance,  just  as  the 
torrents  trace  fancies  forbidden  to  painters  and  ac- 
complish feats  by  arranging  and  wearing  away 
stones  to  the  surprise  of  sculptors  and  architects. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  and  the  twilight  at  this  season 
was  already  fading.  There  was  not  a  cloud  in  the 
sky,  the  balmy  air  caressed  the  earth,  the  flowers 
gave  forth  their  richest  perfumes,  and  in  the  still- 
ness the  gravel  could  be  heard  crushing  under  the 
footsteps  of  the  returning  promenaders.  The  sea 
shone  like  a  mirror,  there  was  so  little  air  stirring 
that  the  flames  of  the  candles  lighted  on  the  card- 
table  burned  steadily,  although  the  windows  were 
wide  open. 

The  room,  the  evening,  the  dwelling,  what  a 
frame  for  the  portrait  of  the  young  girl  then  being 
studied  with  the  profound  attention  of  a  painter  be- 
fore the  Margherita  Dora,  one  of  the  glories  of  the 
Pitti  Palace.  Was  Modeste,  a  flower  shut  up  1  ike  that 
of  Catullus,  worth  all  these  precautions?  You  have 
seen  the  cage,  now  behold  the  bird. 

Twenty  years  old,  slender,  exquisite  as  one  of 
those  sirens  invented  by  the  English  designers  for 
their  Books  of  Beauties,  Modeste  presents,  as  her 
mother  did  once,  a  coquettish  expression,  the  charm 
of  which  is  so  little  understood  in  France,  where 
it  is  called  sentimentality,  but  which  with  the 
Germans  is  the  poetry  of  the  heart  surging  to  the 
surface;  which  in  foolish  people  overflows  in 
affectation,  while  it  gives  to  intelligent  young 
girls  an  exquisite  charm  of  manner.  Remarkable 


MODESTE  MIGNON  25 

for  her  hair,  which  is  of  a  pale  golden  color,  she 
belongs  to  that  class  of  women  known,  doubtless  in 
memory  of  Eve,  as  celestial  blonds,  whose  satin 
skin  seems  like  a  silky  paper  laid  upon  the  flesh, 
which  quivers  at  a  cold  look,  or  brightens  at  a  sunny 
glance,  and  makes  the  hand  envious  to  touch  what 
the  eye  can  see.  Beneath  her  hair,  light  as  down 
and  curled  in  ringlets,  her  forehead,  so  purely 
modeled  that  it  might  have  been  traced  with  a  com- 
pass, rests  serene,  calm  almost  to  placidness, 
although  thoughtfully  intelligent.  Where  could 
one  find  a  forehead  more  harmonious  or  of  more 
transparent  clearness  ?  It  seemed  to  have  a  lustre 
like  that  of  a  pearl.  Her  eyes,  blue  bordering  on 
gray,  showed  both  a  love  of  mischief  and  innocence, 
in  harmony  with  her  arching  eyebrows,  as  regular 
as  those  made  by  one  stroke  of  the  brush  in  Chinese 
paintings  of  faces.  This  spirituelle  candor  is  further 
enhanced  by  the  blue  veins  which  show  in  the 
mother-of-pearl  tints  around  her  eyes  and  temples, 
a  privilege  of  delicate  skins.  Her  face,  of  that  oval 
so  often  used  by  Raphael  for  his  Madonnas,  is  dis- 
tinguished by  the  maidenly  color  of  the  cheeks,  as 
delicate  as  the  rose  of  Bengal,  and  upon  which  the 
long  eyelashes  of  her  transparent  eyelids  throw 
shadows  mingled  with  lights.  Her  small  neck, 
white  as  milk,  recalls  the  fleeting  lines  loved 
by  Leonardo  da  Vinci.  A  few  tiny  freckles,  like 
the  patches  of  the  eighteenth  century,  show  that 
Modeste  is  indeed  a  being  of  the  earth,  and  not  one 
of  those  creations  dreamed  of  in  Italy  by  the  school 


26  MODESTE  MIGNON 

of  Fra  Angelico.  Her  lips  a  little  roguish,  both 
dainty  and  full  at  the  same  time,  express  volup- 
tuousness. Her  waist  supple  without  being  frail, 
will  not  distress  her  motherhood,  like  those  of  the 
young  girls  whose  pretty  figures  are  due  to  the  mor- 
bid pressure  of  corsets.  The  cloth  and  steel  refined 
but  did  not  manufacture  the  serpentine  lines  of  this 
elegance  comparable  to  that  of  a  young  poplar 
swayed  by  the  wind.  Her  dress,  which  was  of  pearl- 
gray  trimmed  with  cherry-red,  and  made  with  a  long 
waist,  delicately  defined  her  bust  and  covered  her 
shoulders,  still  rather  thin,  while  a  chemisette  only 
permitted  a  view  of  the  first  curves  of  the  throat 
where  it  joins  the  shoulders.  Looking  at  this  face, 
both  ethereal  and  intelligent,  where  the  delicacy  of 
a  Grecian  nose  with  rosy,  clear-cut  nostrils  denoted 
a  positive  nature;  where  the  poetry  which  domi- 
nated the  almost  mystical  forehead  was  half  belied 
by  the  voluptuous  expression  of  the  mouth;  where 
candor  disputed  the  deep  and  varied  expression  of 
the  eye  with  one  of  irony — an  observer  would  have 
felt  that  this  young  girl  with  her  quick  and  firm 
hearing  alert  to  every  sound,  with  her  nostrils  open 
to  catch  the  fragrance  of  the  celestial  flower  of  the 
Ideal,  was  destined  to  be  the  stage  on  which  would 
be  played  the  drama  between  the  poetry  which 
surrounds  every  sunrise  and  the  labors  of  the 
day ;  between  Fancy  and  Real  ity.  Modeste  was  the 
pure  and  modest  young  girl,  knowing  her  destiny, 
yet  full  of  chastity — the  Virgin  of  Spain  rather 
than  the  Madonna  of  Raphael. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  27 

She  raised  her  head  as  she  heard  Dumay  say  to 
Exupere,  "Come  here,  young  man,"  and  when  she 
saw  them  talking  in  the  corner  of  the  drawing-room 
she  thought  it  was  concerning  some  commission  in 
Paris. 

She  looked  at  the  friends  about  her,  astonished 
at  their  silence,  and  exclaimed  in  the  most  natural 
voice:  "Well,  are  you  not  going  to  play?"  as  she 
pointed  to  the  green  table  which  Madame  Latour- 
nelle  called  the  altar. 

"Let  us  play,"  said  Dumay,  who  had  just  sent 
young  Exupere  away. 

"Sit  here,  Butscha,"  said  Madame  Latournelle, 
thus  separating  the  clerk,  by  the  length  of  the  table, 
from  Madame  Mignon  and  her  daughter. 

"And  you  come  here,"  said  Dumay  to  his  wife, 
as  he  ordered  her  to  keep  near  him. 

Madame  Dumay,  a  little  American  thirty-six 
years  old,  secretly  wiped  away  her  tears ;  she  adored 
Modeste  and  feared  some  catastrophe. 

"You  are  not  gay  this  evening,"  said  Modeste. 

"We  are  playing,"  replied  Gobenheim,  as  he  ar- 
ranged his  cards. 

However  interesting  this  situation  may  appear,  it 
will  be  more  so  after  explaining  the  position  of 
Dumay  toward  Modeste.  If  the  conciseness  of  this 
explanation  renders  it  dry,  the  reader  will  pardon 
this  dryness  in  favor  of  the  wish  to  finish  the  scene 
rapidly  and  understand  the  necessity  of  relating  the 
argument  which  regulates  all  dramas. 


Dumay  —  Anne  -  Francois  -  Bernard  —  born  at 
Vannes,  set  out  in  1799  as  a  soldier  to  the  army  in 
Italy.  His  father,  president  of  the  revolutionary 
tribunal,  had  made  himself  so  prominent  by  his 
zeal,  that  the  country  was  no  longer  the  place  for 
Dumay  when  his  father,  a  pettifogging  lawyer, 
perished  on  the  scaffold  after  the  Qth  Thermidor. 
After  having  seen  his  mother  die  of  sorrow,  Anne 
sold  everything  he  possessed,  and  at  the  age  of 
twenty-two  ran  away  to  Italy  at  the  moment  when 
our  armies  yielded.  He  met  in  the  Department  of 
Var  a  young  man,  who  for  like  motives,  was  also 
seeking  glory,  finding  the  field  of  battle  less  perilous 
than  Provence. 

The  father  of  Charles  Mignon,  the  last  scion  of 
that  family  to  which  Paris  owes  the  street  and  hotel 
built  by  Cardinal  Mignon,  was  an  artful  man  who 
desired  to  save  from  the  grasp  of  the  Revolution  the 
estate  of  La  Bastie,  a  pretty  fief  in  Comtat  Like 
all  timid  persons  at  this  time,  the  Count  de  la  Bas- 
tie, having  become  the  citizen  Mignon,  found  it 
more  salutary  to  cut  off  the  heads  of  others  than  to 
allow  his  own  to  be  cut  off.  This  false  Terrorist 
disappeared  in  the  Qth  Thermidor  and  was  then 
enrolled  upon  the  list  of  refugees.  The  estate  of  La 
Bastie  was  sold  and  the  dishonored  chateau  had  its 
turrets  razed  to  the  ground.  Finally  citizen  Mignon, 
(29) 


30  MODESTE  MIGNON 

discovered  at  Orange,  was  massacred  with  his  wife 
and  children  with  the  exception  of  Charles  Mignon, 
who  had  been  sent  to  find  an  asylum  in  the  High- 
Alps.  Overwhelmed  with  this  terrible  blow, 
Charles  waited  for  a  less  stormy  time  in  the  valley 
of  Mont  Genevra.  There  he  lived  until  1799  on  a 
few  louis  which  his  father  had  put  in  his  hand  upon 
leaving  him.  At  last  when  he  was  twenty-three 
years  old,  without  other  fortune  than  his  fine,  noble 
bearing  and  that  southern  beauty,  which,  when  per- 
fect, reaches  sublimity, — of  which  Antinous,  the 
favorite  of  Adrian,  is  the  type, — Charles  resolved  to 
hazard  upon  the  red  carpet  of  war  his  southern 
audacity,  which  like  many  others  he  took  for  a  voca- 
tion. He  met  the  Breton  as  he  was  going  to  the 
seat  of  the  army  at  Nice.  Having  become  comrades 
through  the  similarity  of  their  destiny  and  through 
the  contrast  of  their  characters,  these  two  soldiers 
drank  from  the  same  cup  at  the  gushing  torrent, 
divided  the  same  piece  of  bread  and  found  them- 
selves sergeants  at  the  peace  which  followed  the 
Battle  of  Marengo.  When  the  war  began  again, 
Charles  Mignon  went  into  the  cavalry  and  then  lost 
sight  of  his  comrade.  The  last  of  the  Mignons  of  La 
Bastie  was,  in  1812,  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor 
and  major  of  a  regiment  of  cavalry,  and  hoped  to  be 
recreated  count  of  La  Bastie  and  made  a  colonel  by 
the  Emperor.  Being  captured  by  the  Russians,  he 
was  sent,  like  many  others,  to  Siberia. 

He  made  the  journey  with  a  poor  lieutenant  in 
whom  he  recognized  Anne  Dumay,  brave,  unhappy 


MODESTE  MIGNON  31 

and  undecorated,  like  a  million  foot-soldiers  with 
worsted  epaulettes,  the  rank  and  file, — that  canvas 
of  men  upon  which  Napoleon  has  painted  the  pic- 
ture of  the  Empire.  To  kill  time  in  Siberia,  the 
lieutenant-colonel  taught  the  Breton  writing  and 
arithmetic,  as  his  father  Scevola  had  considered 
education  useless.  Charles  found  in  his  first 
traveling  companion  one  of  those  rare  hearts  into 
which  he  could  pour  all  his  sorrows  while  telling 
his  happiness.  The  son  of  Provence  had  finished 
by  meeting  the  fate  which  awaits  all  handsome 
bachelors.  In  1804,  at  Frankfort-on-the-Main,  he 
became  the  adored  of  Bettina  Wallenrod,  the  only 
daughter  of  a  banker,  and  he  had  married  her  with 
all  the  more  enthusiasm  since  she  was  rich  and  one 
of  the  beauties  of  the  town,  and  he  only  a  lieutenant 
without  other  fortune  than  the  exceedingly  prob- 
lematical future  of  the  military  men  of  that  time. 
The  old  Wallenrod,  a  German  baron  who  had  fallen 
from  his  rank, — banking  and  the  baronage  are  insep- 
arable— delighted  to  know  that  the  handsome  lieu- 
tenant was  the  sole  representative  of  the  Mignons 
of  La  Bastie,  approved  of  the  love  of  the  blond 
Bettina,  whom  a  painter — there  was  one  at  that  time 
in  Frankfort — had  asked  to  pose  for  an  ideal  statue 
of  Germany.  Wallenrod  designated  in  advance 
his  grandsons  as  the  Counts  of  La  Bastie- Wallen- 
rod, and  placed  in  French  securities  the  necessary 
sum  to  give  his  daughter  an  income  of  thirty  thou- 
sand francs.  This  dowry  made  a  very  small  hole 
in  his  cash-box,  taking  into  account  the  small  amount 


32  MODESTE  MIGNON 

of  capital  required  at  that  time.  The  Empire  pur- 
sued a  policy  adopted  by  many  debtors  and  rarely 
paid  its  dividends,  therefore  Charles  was  frightened 
at  this  investment,  as  he  had  not  so  much  faith  in 
the  Imperial  eagle  as  the  German  baron.  The  phe- 
nomenon of  faith,  or  admiration  which  is  only  an 
ephemeral  faith,  is  established  with  difficulty  when 
we  are  brought  into  close  relation  with  the  idol. 
The  engineer  suspects  the  machine  which  the  trav- 
eler admires,  and  the  officers  were  in  some  meas- 
ure the  stokers  of  the  Napoleonic  locomotive  if  they 
were  not  its  fuel.  Baron  Wallenrod-Tustall-Bar- 
tenstild  promised,  if  necessary,  to  come  to  the  aid 
of  the  household.  Charles  loved  Bettina  Wallenrod 
as  much  as  he  was  loved  by  her,  which  is  saying  a 
great  deal ;  but  when  a  Provencal  is  enthusiastic, 
everything  becomes  natural  in  regard  to  sentiment 
And  how  could  he  fail  to  adore  a  blond  escaped 
from  one  of  Albert  Durer's  pictures,  of  an  angelic 
disposition  and  a  fortune  which  was  notable  at 
Frankfort? 

Charles  had  four  children,  of  whom  only  two 
daughters  remained  at  the  time  when  he  poured  his 
sorrows  into  the  ear  of  the  Breton.  Without  know- 
ing them,  Dumay  loved  these  two  little  ones  from 
the  effect  of  that  sympathy  so  well  understood  by 
Charles,  which  makes  a  soldier  the  father  of  all  chil- 
dren. The  elder,  called  Bettina-Caroline,  was  born 
in  1805  ;  the  other,  Marie-Modeste,  in  1808.  The  un- 
fortunate lieutenant-colonel,  having  no  news  from 
these  beloved  beings,  returned  home  on  foot  through 


MODESTE  MIGNON  33 

Russia  and  Prussia  in  1814,  with  the  lieutenant 
These  two  friends,  with  whom  the  difference  in 
epaulettes  did  not  count,  reached  Frankfort  at  the 
time  that  Napoleon  landed  at  Cannes.  Charles 
found  his  wife  at  Frankfort,  but  in  mourning.  She 
had  had  the  sorrow  of  losing  her  father,  by  whom 
she  was  so  loved  that  he  wished  to  see  her  always 
smiling— even  at  his  death-bed.  The  old  Wallen- 
rod  did  not  survive  the  disasters  of  the  Empire. 
At  seventy-two,  he  had  speculated  in  cotton,  be- 
lieving in  the  genius  of  Napoleon,  without  realiz- 
ing that  genius  is  as  often  above,  as  below 
current  events.  This  last  Wallenrod,  one  of  the 
true  Wallenrod-Tustall-Bartenstilds,  had  bought 
almost  as  many  bales  of  cotton  as  the  Emperor 
had  lost  men,  during  his  marvelous  campaign  in 
France. 

"I  tie  in  ze  goten!"  this  father — a  father  of  the 
Goriot  type — said  to  his  daughter,  in  striving  to 
mitigate  a  sorrow  which  terrified  him.  "I  tie  owing 
nobody  nodings. "  This  Frenchman  of  Germany 
died  trying  to  speak  the  language  beloved  by  his 
daughter. 

Happy  to  have  saved  his  wife  and  two  daughters 
from  the  general  wreck.  Charles  Mignon  returned 
to  Paris,  where  the  Emperor  made  him  lieutenant- 
colonel  of  the  cuirassiers  of  the  guard  and  a  com- 
mander of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  The  dream  of  the 
colonel  to  see  himself  general  and  count  at  the  first 
triumph  of  Napoleon,  vanished  in  the  flood  of  blood 
at  Waterloo.  The  colonel,  slightly  wounded,  fell 
3 


34  MODESTE  MIGNON 

back  upon  the  Loire  and  left  Tours  before  the  troops 
disbanded. 

In  the  spring  of  1816,  Charles  disposed  of  his 
income  of  thirty  thousand  francs  from  government 
securities,  which  gave  him  about  four  hundred  thou- 
sand francs,  and  resolved  to  go  to  America  to  make 
a  fortune,  abandoning  the  country  where  persecution 
already  weighed  upon  Napoleon's  soldiers.  He 
went  from  Paris  to  Havre,  accompanied  by  Dumay, 
whose  life  he  had  saved  by  mounting  him  behind 
him  in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil  which  followed  the 
day  at  Waterloo.  Dumay  shared  the  opinions  and 
discouragements  of  the  colonel.  Charles  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  Breton  as  though  by  a  faithful  dog, 
and  the  poor  soldier  idolized  the  two  little  girls. 
The  colonel  saw  that,  with  the  obedience  and 
habits  of  the  guard-room,  and  the  probity  and 
attachment  of  the  lieutenant,  he  would  make  a  faith- 
ful as  well  as  useful  servant  for  him,  so  he  proposed 
to  Dumay  that  he  should  put  himself  as  a  civilian 
under  his  orders.  Dumay  was  very  happy  to  be 
adopted  by  a  family  to  whom  he  resolved  to  cling 
like  the  mistletoe  to  the  oak.  While  waiting  for  an 
opportunity  to  embark,  choosing  between  the  ves- 
sels and  meditating  upon  the  chances  offered  by 
their  destinations,  the  colonel  heard  much  said  of 
the  brilliant  destiny  which  the  peace  promised  for 
Havre.  Listening  to  the  conversation  of  two  citi- 
zens, he  saw  the  means  of  fortune  and  he  became  at 
one  and  the  same  time  a  ship-owner,  a  land-owner 
and  a  banker.  He  bought  two  hundred  thousand 


MODESTE  MIGNON  35 

francs'  worth  of  land  and  houses,  and  dispatched  a 
vessel  to  New  York,  laden  with  a  cargo  of  French 
silks,  bought  for  a  low  price  at  Lyons.  His  agent 
Dumay  went  with  the  ship.  While  the  colonel  in- 
stalled himself  and  family  in  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful houses  of  the  Rue  Royale,  and  learned  the 
principles  of  banking,  in  which  he  displayed  the 
activity  and  the  marvelous  intelligence  of  the  peo- 
ple of  Provence,  Dumay  made  two  fortunes,  for  he 
returned  with  a  cargo  of  cotton  bought  at  a  ridicu- 
lously low  price.  This  double  operation  was  worth 
an  enormous  capital  to  the  house  of  Mignon.  The 
colonel  bought  the  villa  at  Ingouville  and  rewarded 
Dumay  by  giving  him  a  modest  house  on  the  Rue 
Royale.  The  poor  Breton  had  brought  from  New 
York,  along  with  the  cotton,  a  pretty  little  wife  who 
had  a  weakness  for  French  characteristics.  Miss 
Grummer  was  worth  about  four  thousand  dollars, 
twenty  thousand  francs,  which  Dumay  invested 
with  the  colonel.  Dumay,  having  become  the  alter 
ego  of  the  ship-owner,  learned  in  a  short  time  to 
take  charge  of  the  books,  that  science  which,  accord- 
ing to  him,  distinguished  the  sergeant-majors  of 
commerce.  This  simple-minded  soldier,  having 
been  forgotten  by  fortune  for  twenty  years,  thought 
himself  the  happiest  fellow  in  the  world  on  finding 
himself  the  owner  of  a  house  prettily  furnished 
through  the  generosity  of  his  chief,  twelve  hundred 
francs  in  dividends  from  investments  and  a  salary  of 
three  thousand  six  hundred  francs.  Even  in  his 
dreams,  Lieutenant  Dumay  had  never  hoped  for 


36  MODESTE  MIGNON 

such  a  position;  but  he  was  still  better  satisfied  to 
find  himself  the  pivot  of  the  largest  commercial 
house  in  Havre.  Madame  Dumay  had  experienced 
the  grief  of  losing  all  her  children  attheir  birth,  and 
the  sufferings  of  her  last  confinement  had  deprived 
her  of  all  hope  of  more;  she  therefore  had  attached 
herself  to  the  two  Mignon  daughters  with  almost  as 
much  devotion  as  Dumay,  who  even  preferred  them 
to  his  own  children.  Madame  Dumay,  whose 
parents  had  been  farmers,  was  accustomed  to  a  life 
of  economy,  and  she  contented  herself  with  two  thou- 
sand four  hundred  francs  a  year  for  herself  and 
house.  Thus  every  year  Dumay  placed  two  thou- 
sand and  some  hundred  francs  more  in  the  house  of 
Mignon.  When  the  master  examined  the  balance- 
sheet,  he  added  to  the  cashier's  account  a  present 
in  keeping  with  his  services.  In  1824,  the  cashier's 
credit  amounted  to  fifty-eight  thousand  francs.  It 
was  at  that  time  that  Charles  Mignon,  Comte  de  la 
Bastie, — a  title  which  was  never  mentioned,  over- 
whelmed the  cashier  by  giving  him  as  a  residence 
the  Chalet,  where  Modeste  and  her  mother  now  live 
in  quiet  retirement.  The  deplorable  condition  in 
which  we  find  Madame  Mignon,  whom  her  husband 
had  left  still  beautiful,  has  its  cause  in  the  catastro- 
phe to  which  Charles's  absence  is  due.  It  had 
taken  three  years  of  sorrow  to  destroy  this  beautiful 
German  woman,  but  it  was  a  grief  like  the  worm 
at  the  core  of  the  fruit.  It  is  easy  to  sum  up  the 
causes.  Two  children  who  died  at  an  early  age 
had  a  double  grave  in  this  heart  which  did  not  know 


MODESTE  MIGNON  37 

how  to  forget,  and  the  captivity  of  her  husband  in 
Siberia  was  a  living  death  to  this  loving  wife.  The 
downfall  of  the  wealthy  house  of  Wai lenrod,  and  the 
death  of  the  poor  banker,  leaving  his  coffers  empty, 
was  like  a  mortal  blow  in  the  midst  of  Bettina's 
doubts  about  her  husband's  fate.  This  tender  Ger- 
man flower  barely  escaped  dying  from  the  excessive 
joy  of  Charles's  return.  Then  the  second  fall  of 
the  Empire  and  the  anticipated  expatriation  were 
new  accessions  of  the  same  fever.  But  ten  years  of 
continual  prosperity,  the  gaieties  of  her  house,  the 
handsomest  in  Havre,  the  dinners,  balls,  fetes  of  the 
successful  merchant,  the  sumptuousness  of  the  villa 
Mignon,  the  immense  consideration  and  respectful 
esteem  which  Charles  enjoyed,  the  absolute  devo- 
tion of  her  husband,  who  responded  to  a  unique  love 
with  a  love  as  unique: — all  these  had  reconciled  the 
poor  woman  to  life.  At  last  when  her  fears  left 
her,  when  she  foresaw  a  beautiful  evening  to  her 
stormy  day,  a  disaster  which  was  not  known,  but 
which  lay  buried  in  the  heart  of  the  family,  and  of 
which  we  shall  soon  speak,  became  the  consum- 
mation of  her  misfortunes. 

In  January,  1826,  in  the  midst  of  a  f£te,  when 
Havre  had  unanimously  chosen  Charles  Mignon  as 
its  deputy,  three  letters  arriving  from  New  York, 
Paris  and  London  had  fallen  as  so  many  blows  of  a 
hammer  upon  his  crystal  palace  of  Prosperity.  In 
ten  minutes  Ruin  with  its  vulture  wings,  had  lighted 
upon  this  unheard-of  happiness,  as  the  cold  settled 
upon  the  great  army  in  1812.  In  one  night  spent 


38  MODESTE  MIGNON 

with  Dumay  and  his  books,  Charles  Mignon  had 
decided  what  to  do.  All  his  property,  without  even 
excepting  the  furniture,  would  be  required  in  order 
to  pay  his  debts. 

"Havre,"  said  the  lieutenant-colonel,  "shall 
never  see  me  abased.  Dumay,  I  will  take  your 
sixty  thousand  francs  at  six  per  cent." 

"At  three,  my  dear  colonel." 

"Then  I  will  not  take  them  at  all,"  replied  the 
colonel,  peremptorily.  "I  will  give  you  your  share 
in  my  new  business.  The  Modeste,  which  no  longer 
belongs  to  me,  sails  to-morrow  and  I  shall  go  with 
the  captain.  I  leave  my  wife  and  daughter  in  your 
care.  Do  not  expect  to  hear  from  me,  no  news 
must  be  taken  for  good  news." 

Dumay,  always  the  lieutenant,  did  not  ask  his 
colonel  a  single  question  about  his  projects.  "I 
think,"  he  said  to  Latournelle,  with  a  wise  air, 
"that  the  colonel  has  his  plans  laid." 

The  next  day  he  accompanied  his  master  upon 
the  ship  The  Modeste  sailing  for  Constantinople. 
There  on  the  stern  of  the  ship,  the  Breton  asked: 

"What  are  your  last  orders,  my  colonel  ?" 

"Let  no  man  approach  the  Chalet!"  the  father 
exclaimed,  suppressing  his  tears  with  difficulty. 

"Dumay,  guard  my  last  child  for  me  as  a  bulldog 
would  guard  her.  Death  to  the  man  who  would  try 
to  ruin  my  second  daughter !  Fear  nothing,  not 
even  the  scaffold.  I  will  join  you  there." 

"My  dear  colonel,  go  your  way  in  peace,  I  under- 
stand you.  You  will  either  find  Mademoiselle 


MODESTE  MIGNON  39 

Modeste  as  you  have  confided  her  to  me,  or  I  will  be 
dead.  You  know  me  and  you  know  our  two  Pyrenean 
dogs.  No  man  can  reach  your  daughter.  Pardon 
me  for  having  said  so  much." 

The  two  soldiers  threw  themselves  into  each 
other's  arms,  as  two  men  may  who  have  tested  each 
other  in  the  wilds  of  Siberia. 

The  same  day,  the  Courrier  du  Havre  published 
this  simple,  terrible,  energetic  and  honest  leading 
article: 

The  house  of  Charles  Mignon  suspends  payment.  The 
undersigned  liquidators  undertake  to  pay  all  liabilities.  On 
and  after  this  date,  all  bills  of  exchange  can  be  cashed  to  the 
third  holders.  The  sale  of  the  landed  property  will  fully 
cover  all  current  accounts. 

This  notice  is  given  for  the  honor  of  the  house,  and  to  pre- 
vent any  disturbance  of  credits  upon  the  Exchange  of  Havre. 
Monsieur  Charles  Mignon  left  this  morning  on  The  Modeste 
for  Asia  Minor,  having  left  full  powers  to  effect  the  sale  of  all 
his  property,  even  of  real  estate. 

DUMAY,  assignee  for  the  bank  accounts. 
LATOURNELLE,  notary,  assignee  for  the 

city  and  country  estates. 
GOBENHE1M,   assignee   for   commercial 
securities. 

Latournelle  owed  his  fortune  to  Monsieur 
Mignon's  kindness,  for  in  1817  he  loaned  him  a 
hundred  thousand  francs  with  which  to  buy  the  best 
practice  in  Havre.  This  poor  man,  having  no  pe- 
cuniary means,  had  been  head  clerk  for  ten  years. 
He  was  now  forty  years  old  and  believed  he  was  to 
remain  a  head  clerk  for  the  remainder  of  his  days. 


40  MODESTE  MIGNON 

He  was  the  only  one  in  all  Havre  whose  devotion 
compared  to  that  of  Dumay,  for  Gobenheim  profited 
by  the  liquidation  to  continue  the  business  of  Mon- 
sieur Mignon,  which  enabled  him  to  increase  his 
own  banking  business.  While  unanimous  regrets 
were  expressed  at  the  Bourse,  on  the  wharves,  and 
in  domestic  circles,  while  praises  for  such  an  irre- 
proachable, honorable  and  well-meaning  man  filled 
all  mouths,  Latournelleand  Dumay,silent  and  active 
as  two  ants,  made  sales,  collected  money,  paid 
off  liabilities  and  closed  up  the  business.  Vilquin 
played  the  generous  part  in  buying  the  villa,  the 
town  house  and  a  farm,  Latournelle  profiting  by 
this  in  getting  a  good  price  from  him.  People 
wished  to  call  on  Madame  and  Mademoiselle 
Mignon ,  but  they  had  obeyed  Charles  by  taking 
refuge  in  the  Chalet  the  very  morning  of  his  depart- 
ure, the  exact  hour  of  which  had  been  concealed 
from  them.  In  order  not  to  be  shaken  in  his  resolve 
by  his  grief,  the  brave  banker  had  kissed  his  wife 
and  daughter  while  they  slept  There  were  three 
hundred  visiting  cards  sent  to  the  house  of  the 
Mignons.  Two  weeks  later,  just  as  Charles  had 
predicted,  they  were  entirely  forgotten,  which  con- 
vinced these  two  women  of  the  wisdom  and  dignity 
of  the  command.  Dumay  had  his  master  repre- 
sented in  New  York,  London  and  Paris.  He  fol- 
lowed up  the  liquidation  of  the  three  banking-houses 
to  which  this  failure  was  due,  and  from  1826  to  1828 
he  real  ized  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  the  eighth 
part  of  Charles's  fortune,  and  according  to  his 


MODESTE  MIGNON  41 

written  orders  the  night  of  his  departure,  he  sent  it, 
in  the  beginning  of  the  year  1828,  through  the  Mon- 
genod  house,  to  New  York  to  be  placed  to  the  credit 
of  Monsieur  Mignon.  All  this  was  done  with  mili- 
tary obedience,  except  as  to  withholding  thirty 
thousand  francs  for  the  personal  needs  of  Madame 
and  Mademoiselle  Mignon,  which  Charles  had  com- 
manded but  which  Dumay  did  not  do.  The  Breton 
sold  his  house  in  town  for  twenty  thousand  francs 
and  put  it  to  the  credit  of  Madame  Mignon,  think- 
ing that  the  more  capital  the  colonel  had,  the  sooner 
he  would  return. 

"People  have  been  known  to  perish  for  lack  of 
thirty  thousand  francs,"  he  said  to  Latournelle,  who 
had  taken  the  house  from  him  at  his  own  valuation, 
and  where  the  inmates  of  the  Chalet  always  found 
a  room. 

Such,  for  the  celebrated  Mignon  House,  was  the 
result  of  the  crisis  which  from  1825  to  1826  ruined 
some  of  the  principal  places  of  business  and  wrecked 
several  Parisian  bankers,  among  whom — as  some 
may  remember— was  the  president  of  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce. 

One  can  well  understand  that  this  immense  dis- 
aster, crowning  a  bourgeois  reign  of  ten  years, 
might  be  the  death-blow  to  Bettina  Wallenrod,  who 
again  saw  herself  separated  from  her  husband  with- 
out knowing  his  fate,  which  seemed  as  perilous  and 
adventurous  to  her  as  his  exile  in  Siberia.  But  the 
sorrow  which  dragged  her  to  the  grave  was  to  these 
visible  sorrows  what  the  misled  child  of  the  family, 


42  MODESTE  MIGNON 

who  destroys  its  happiness,  is  to  ordinary  trials. 
The  last  stone  thrown  at  the  heart  of  this  poor 
mother  was  the  stone  in  the  little  graveyard  at  In- 
gouville  upon  which  was  inscribed: 

BETTINA-CAROLINE  MIGNON 

DIED  AGED  TWENTY-TWO  YEARS. 

PRAY  FOR  HER  ! 

1827. 

This  inscription  is,  for  the  young  girl,  what  many 
an  epitaph  is  for  the  dead, — the  table  of  contents  of 
an  unknown  book.  Here  then  is  the  book  in  its 
terrible  brevity,  which  will  explain  the  oath  ex- 
changed between  the  colonel  and  the  lieutenant  in 
their  adieus. 

A  charming  young  man  named  Georges  d'Estour- 
ny,  came  to  Havre  under  the  natural  pretext  of 
seeing  the  sea  and  there  he  saw  Caroline  Mignon. 
An  elegant,  entertaining  Parisian  is  never  without 
recommendations.  He  was  invited  through  the 
intervention  of  a  friend  of  the  Mignons,  to  a  fete 
given  at  Ingouville.  Very  much  attracted  by  both 
Caroline  and  her  fortune,  the  Parisian  foresaw  a 
happy  ending  to  the  meeting.  In  three  months  he 
had  used  all  his  seductive  powers  and  Caroline 
disappeared.  When  there  are  daughters  in  a  family, 
a  father  ought  no  more  to  allow  a  young  man 


MODESTE  MIGNON  43 

whom  he  does  not  know  to  be  introduced  to  his 
house,  than  to  leave  papers  and  books  about  with- 
out reading  them  first  himself.  The  innocence  of 
maidens  is  like  milk,  which  turns  sour  at  the  sound 
of  thunder,  a  poisonous  perfume,  warm  weather  or 
even  a  breath.  After  reading  the  farewell  letter  of 
his  elder  daughter,  Charles  Mignon  had  Madame 
Dumay  set  out  at  once  for  Paris  and  the  family 
alleged  that  this  sudden  journey  had  been  ordered 
by  the  family  physician,  who  affirmed  this  necessary 
excuse;  but,  nevertheless,  they  could  not  prevent 
some  gossip  at  Havre  about  this  absence. 

"How  can  it  be  that  such  a  strong  young  girl,  with 
a  Spanish  complexion  and  jet  black  hair ! — she  a  con- 
sumptive!"— 

"Yes,  they  say  that  she  was  imprudent — " 

"Ah!  ah!"  cried  a  Vilquin. 

"She  came  in  bathed  in  perspiration  from  a 
horseback  ride  and  drank  ice  water ;  at  least  that  is 
what  Doctor  Troussenard  says. " 

When  Madame  Dumay  came  back  from  Paris,  the 
failure  of  the  Mignon  House  had  taken  place  and  no 
one  paid  any  further  attention  to  the  absence  of 
Caroline  nor  to  the  return  of  the  cashier's  wife. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1827,  the  papers 
were  full  of  the  suit  against  Georges  d'Estourny, 
accused  of  cheating  at  cards,  by  the  correctional 
police.  This  young  corsair  exiled  himself  without 
troubling  about  Mademoiselle  Mignon,  as  the  news 
of  the  failure  of  her  father  had  rendered  her  value- 
less in  his  eyes.  In  a  short  time,  Caroline  learned 


44  MODESTE  MIGNON 

of  his  infamous  desertion  and  the  ruin  of  her  pater- 
nal house.  Having  returned  to  the  Chalet  in  a  state 
of  desperate  illness  she  died  in  a  few  days,  and  her 
death  at  least  shielded  her  reputation. 

People  believed  now  in  the  illness  which  Monsieur 
Mignon  had  allegedatthe  time  of  his  daughter's  flight, 
and  in  the  doctor's  order,  which  was  said  to  have 
sent  Mademoiselle  Caroline  to  Nice.  Up  to  the  last 
moment  the  mother  had  hoped  to  save  her  daughter. 
Bettinawas  her  favorite  asModestewas  the  favorite 
of  Charles.  There  was  something  touching  in  these 
two  preferences.  Bettinawas  the  image  of  Charles 
as  Modeste  was  of  her  mother.  This  devoted  couple 
perpetuated  their  love  for  each  other  in  their 
children.  Caroline,  daughter  of  Provence,  inherited 
from  her  father  that  beautiful  hair,  black  as  a 
raven's  wing,  which  we  admire  in  Southern 
women,  deep  almond-shaped  brown  eyes  as  brilliant 
as  stars,  an  olive  complexion,  velvety  skin  like 
ripe  fruit,  an  arched  instep  and  a  Spanish  figure  on 
which  the  short  skirts  set  crisply.  Both  the  father 
and  mother  were  proud  of  the  extreme  opposites  of 
the  two  sisters. 

"A  devil  and  an  angel,"  they  said  jestingly; 
however,  it  become  a  prophecy.  After  weeping  for 
a  month  in  her  room,  where  she  would  see  no  one, 
the  poor  German  mother  came  out  with  her  eyes 
seriously  injured.  Before  losing  her  sight  entirely 
she  went  to  see  Caroline's  grave,  contrary  to  the 
wishes  of  all  her  friends.  This  last  image  remained 
distinct  in  the  darkness  which  surrounded  her,  as  a 


MODESTE  MIGNON  45 

red  outline  of  the  last  object  seen  remains  in  the 
vision  when  we  close  our  eyes  in  bright  daylight 
Modeste  now  being  the  only  daughter,  her  father 
not  knowing  his  loss,  his  terrible,  double  misfortune 
made  Dumay  more  watchful  than  in  the  past,  but 
not  less  devoted.  Madame  Dumay  idolized  Modeste. 
Being  a  woman  deprived  of  children,  she  heaped 
upon  her  her  mother-love,  without,  however,  for- 
getting the  orders  of  her  husband,  who  distrusted 
women's  friendships.  These  orders  were  positive. 

"If  any  man  of  whatever  age  or  whatever  rank, 
speaks  to  Modeste,  looks  at  her  or  makes  eyes  at  her, 
he  is  a  dead  man,"  said  Dumay.  "I  will  blow  his 
brains  out  and  give  myself  over  to  the  legal  conse- 
quences :  perhaps  my  death  may  save  her.  If  you  do 
not  wish  to  see  my  head  cut  off  take  my  place  in 
watching  over  her  while  I  am  away  in  the  city." 

For  three  years  past,  Dumay  examined  his  weap- 
ons every  evening.  He  put  half  the  responsibility 
of  his  oath  upon  two  Pyrenean  dogs,  two  animals  of 
unusual  intelligence.  One  slept  within  the  house 
and  the  other  was  posted  in  a  kennel  without,  from 
which  he  neither  came  out  nor  barked;  but  the  hour 
when  these  two  dogs  tried  their  teeth  upon  anyone 
would  have  been  a  terrible  one  for  the  unfortunate 
person. 

The  life  led  by  the  mother  and  daughter  at  the 
Chalet  can  now  be  imagined.  Monsieur  and  Ma- 
dame Latournelle,  often  accompanied  by  Goben- 
heim,  came  almost  every  evening  to  join  their 
friends  and  play  whist  The  conversation  turned 


46  MODESTE  MIGNON 

upon  the  gossip  of  Havre,  the  petty  events  of  pro- 
vincial life.  They  left  between  nine  and  ten 
o'clock  and  Modeste  put  her  mother  to  bed,  when 
they  said  their  prayers  together,  encouraged  each 
other,  and  spoke  of  the  beloved  traveler.  After 
having  kissed  her  mother  good-night,  she  went  to 
her  own  room  about  ten  o'clock.  The  next  day 
Modeste  dressed  her  mother  with  the  same  care,  the 
same  prayers,  and  the  same  prattle.  Let  it  be  said 
to  the  praise  of  Modeste  that  since  the  day  when  a 
terrible  calamity  deprived  her  mother  of  sight  she 
had  become  her  servant  and  had  always  displayed 
the  same  solicitude  toward  her  without  wearying, 
without  any  indication  of  finding  it  monotonous. 
This  sublime  affection  given  at  all  times,  and  with 
a  gentleness  rare  among  young  girls,  was  greatly 
appreciated  by  those  who  witnessed  it.  Modeste 
was  a  pearl  of  great  price  in  the  estimation  of  the 
Latournelles  and  Monsieur  and  Madame  Dumay. 
Between  lunch  and  dinner,  Madame  Mignon  and 
Madame  Dumay  took  a  little  walk,  when  the  sun 
shone,  to  the  water's  edge,  and  Modeste  accompanied 
them,  as  two  arms  were  needed  to  guide  the  unfor- 
tunate blind  woman. 

A  month  previous  to  the  scene  to  which  this  ex- 
planation is  a  parenthesis,  Madame  Mignon  had 
taken  counsel  with  her  only  friends,  Madame  La- 
tournelle,  the  notary  and  Dumay,  while  Madame 
Dumay  took  Modeste  off  for  a  long  walk. 

"Listen  to  me,  my  friends,"  said  the  blind 
woman,  "my  daughter  is  in  love,  I  feel  it;  I  see  it, 


MODESTE  MIGNON  47 

— a  strange  change  has  taken  place  in  her  and  I  do 
not  understand  how  it  is  that  you  have  not  per- 
ceived it — " 

"My  word  of  honor—"  cried  the  lieutenant 

"Do  not  interrupt  me,  Dumay.  For  two  months 
past  Modeste  has  taken  great  care  of  her  appearance, 
as  if  she  were  going  to  meet  a  lover.  She  is  ex- 
ceedingly difficult  to  please  about  her  shoes,  she 
wishes  to  display  her  foot  at  its  best  She  scolds 
Madame  Gobet  her  shoemaker.  It  is  the  same  with 
her  dressmaker.  Some  days  my  poor  darling  is 
meditative,  expectant,  as  if  she  awaited  some  one; 
her  voice  has  a  querulous  tone  when  one  questions 
her,  as  if  she  were  disturbed  in  her  fancies  and 
secret  expectations;  then  if  the  expected  arrives — " 

"Good  gracious!" 

"Sit  down,  Dumay,"  said  the  blind  woman. 
"Well,  Modeste  is  gay!  Oh!  not  for  you,  per- 
haps, these  shades  of  expression  are  too  delicate  to 
be  recognized  by  people  who  can  see  the  actual. 
This  gaiety  betrays  itself  in  the  notes  of  her  voice, 
certain  accents  which  I  understand.  Then,  instead 
of  sitting  still,  dreaming,  Modeste  expresses  a  wild 
activity  in  impulsive  movements, — in  short,  she  is 
happy!  There  is  grace  even  in  the  ideas  which 
she  expresses.  Ah!  my  friends,  I  know  happi- 
ness as  well  as  sorrow — even  by  the  kiss  which 
she  gives  me,  I  understand  what  is  passing  in  her 
mind;  if  she  has  received  what  she  awaited  or 
if  disappointed.  There  are  a  great  many  shades 
of  expression  in  a  kiss,  even  in  the  kiss  of  an 


48  MODESTE  MIGNON 

innocent  young  girl — and  Modeste  is  innocence 
itself,  but  it  is  informed  innocence.  If  I  am  blind, 
my  love  is  farseeing  and  I  charge  you  to  watch 
over  my  daughter." 

Dumay  became  ferocious,  the  notary,  a  man  who 
wished  to  ferret  out  a  mystery,  Madame  Latournelle 
the  deceived  chaperone,  and  Madame  Dumay  who 
shared  her  husband's  fears,  constituted  themselves 
so  many  spies  to  guard  Modeste.  She  was  not 
left  alone  for  an  instant.  Dumay  passed  nights 
under  her  window  wrapped  in  his  cloak  like  a  jeal- 
ous Spaniard;  but,  armed  with  all  his  military 
sagacity  he  was  unable  to  find  any  clew  to  the 
mystery.  Unless  she  was  in  love  with  the  night- 
ingales in  the  Vilquin  park  or  some  Prince  Lutin, 
Modeste  could  have  seen  no  one  nor  given  nor  re- 
ceived any  signal.  Madame  Dumay,  who  never 
went  to  bed  until  she  saw  that  Modeste  was  asleep, 
watched  the  roads  from  the  top  of  the  Chalet  with  a 
vigilance  equal  to  that  of  her  husband.  Under  the 
surveillance  of  these  Argus  eyes,  the  irreproachable 
child,  whose  least  movement  was  studied  and  ana- 
lyzed, was  so  thoroughly  acquitted  of  all  guilt  that 
the  friends  taxed  Madame  Mignon  with  foolishness 
and  preoccupation. 

Madame  Latournelle,  who  took  Modeste  to  and 
from  the  church,  was  instructed  to  disabuse  the 
mother's  mind  about  her  daughter. 

"Modeste,"  she  observed,  "is  a  young  person 
of  very  exalted  ideas,  she  adores  the  poetry  of 
one  author,  and  the  prose  of  another.  You  have 


MODESTE  MIGNON  49' 

only  to  judge  by  the  impression  produced  on  her  by 
that  symphony  of  the  scaffold — an  idea  supplied  by 
Butscha,  who  often  lent  his  abundant  wit  to  his 
benefactress — called  The  Last  Day  of  a  Condemned 
Man,  but  she  seems  crazy  with  admiration  for  this 
Monsieur  Hugo.  I  don't  know  where  such  people — 
Victor  Hugo,  Lamartine,  and  Byron  are  such  people  in 
the  eyes  of  the  Madame  Latournelles — get  their  ideas 
any  way.  The  child  kept  talking  to  me  about 
Childe  Harold,  and  I,  not  wishing  to  have  her  get 
the  best  of  me,  was  simple  enough  to  commence 
reading  the  stuff,  so  as  to  reason  with  her  about  it. 
It  may  have  been  the  fault  of  the  translation,  but  it 
turned  my  stomach,  made  my  eyes  swim  and  I  could 
not  finish  it.  Why  there  are  howling  comparisons, 
vanishing  rocks  and  lava  of  the  war!  Well,  one 
may  expect  peculiarities  in  a  traveling  Englishman, 
but  he  passes  all  bounds.  He  takes  you  to  Spain, 
puts  you  in  the  clouds  above  the  Alps  and  makes 
the  torrents  and  stars  converse — and  then  there  are 
too  many  virgins! — that  is  provoking. — Then,  after 
Napoleon's  campaigns,  we  have  flaming  bullets  and 
sounding  brass  which  roll  through  several  pages. 
Modeste  tells  me  that  all  that  bathos  is  the  fault  of 
the  translator  and  that  I  ought  to  read  it  in  English. 
But  I  am  not  going  to  learn  English  for  Lord  Byron 
when  I  did  not  learn  it  for  Exupere.  I  much  prefer 
the  novels  of  Ducray-Duminil  to  those  English 
romances!  I  am  too  good  a  Norman  to  fall  in  love 
with  things  which  come  from  foreign  lands,  espe- 
cially England. — " 


50  MODESTE  MIGNON 

In  spite  of  her  eternal  mourning,  Madame  Mignon 
could  not  help  laughing  at  the  idea  of  Madame  La- 
tour  nelle  reading  Childe  Harold,  and  the  wife  of  the 
notary  took  the  smile  as  an  approbation  of  her  sen- 
timents. 

"Thus  then,  my  dear  Madame  Mignon,  you  take 
the  fancies  of  Modeste,  the  effect  of  her  reading,  for 
love  affairs.  Remember  she  is  only  twenty  and  at 
that  age  a  girl  is  in  love  with  herself  and  dresses  for 
her  own  benefit  I  remember  that  I  used  to  put  a 
man's  hat  on  my  poor  little  sister  and  play  that  she 
was  a  gentleman. — You  had  a  very  happy  youth  at 
Frankfort,  but  let  us  be  just :  Modeste  has  no  amuse- 
ments here.  In  spite  of  having  her  slightest  wish 
gratified,  she  knows  that  she  is  watched,  and  the 
life  she  leads  would  offer  very  little  pleasure  to  a 
young  girl  who  did  not  get  her  amusement  from 
books.  Rest  assured  she  loves  no  one  as  she  loves 
you — and  you  may  be  very  happy  that  she  raves 
over  the  corsairs  of  Lord  Byron,  the  heroes  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott  and  your  own  Germans,  the  tales  of 
Egmont,  Werther,  Schiller  and  the  other  errs." 

"Well,  madame?" — said  Dumay  respectfully, 
somewhat  frightened  at  Madame  Mignon's  silence. 

"Modeste  is  not  only  in  love,  but  she  loves  some 
individual  man,"  responded  the  mother  obstinately. 

"Madame,  this  thing  affects  my  life,  my  honor, 
and  you  must  allow  me,  not  only  for  my  own  sake, 
but  on  account  of  my  wife,  my  colonel  and  all  of  us, 
to  ferret  this  to  the  bottom  and  find  out  whether  it 
is  the  mother  or  the  watch-dog  that  is  deceived." 


MODESTE  MIGNON  $1 

"It  is  you,  Dumay!  Ah!  if  I  could  only  see  my 
daughter! — "  said  the  unfortunate  blind  woman. 

"But  with  whom  can  she  be  in  love?"  asked  Ma- 
dame Latournelle.  "As  for  us,  I  can  be  responsible 
for  my  Exupere. " 

"It  cannot  be  Gobenheim,  whom  we  have  seen 
scarcely  nine  hours  a  week  since  the  colonel  went 
away,"  said  Dumay.  "Besides  he  does  not  think 
of  Modeste,  that  crown  of  one  hundred  sous  made 
into  a  man!  His  uncle  Gobenheim-Keller  told  him 
to  be  sure  and  get  rich  enough  to  marry  a  Keller. 
With  this  program  there  is  no  fear  that  he  will 
even  know  to  what  sex  Modeste  belongs.  Those 
are  all  the  men  we  see  here.  I  do  not  count  Butscha, 
though  I  love  him,  poor  little  hunchback.  He  is 
your  Dumay,  madame,"  he  said  to  the  lawyer's 
wife.  "Butscha  knows  very  well  that  one  look 
cast  upon  Modeste  would  cost  him  a  soaking  such 
as  they  give  in  Vannes. — Not  a  soul  has  had  any 
communication  with  us.  Madame  Latournelle,  who 
since  your — your  affliction,  madame,  comes  to  take 
Modeste  with  her  to  church  and  returns  with  her, 
has  observed  her  carefully  these  last  days  dur- 
ing the  service  and  has  seen  nothing  suspicious 
about  her.  And  if  I  must  confess,  I  myself  have 
raked  the  avenues  about  the  house  for  a  month, 
and  have  never  found  them  with  any  traces  of 
footsteps. ' ' — 

"Rakes  are  neither  expensive  nor  difficult  to 
handle,"  said  the  daughter  of  Germany. 

"And  the  dogs?"  asked  Dumay. 


52  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Lovers  knowhowto  find  potions  for  them," said 
Madame  Mignon. 

"I  shall  blow  my  brains  out  if  you  are  right,  for 
I  shall  be  done  for,"  cried  Dumay. 

"And  why,  Dumay?" 

"Ah!  madame  I  could  not  bear  to  look  the  colonel 
in  the  face  if  he  should  not  find  his  daughter,  now 
his  only  daughter,  as  pure,  as  virtuous  as  she  was 
when  he  said  to  me  on  the  ship,  'Let  not  the  fear 
of  the  scaffold  stay  you  Dumay,  if  it  be  a  question 
of  Modeste's  honor.'  " 

"I  recognize  you  both  in  that  speech,"  said  Ma- 
dame Mignon,  much  moved. 

"I  would  wager  my  everlasting  salvation,  that 
Modeste  is  as  pure  as  she  was  in  her  little  cradle," 
said  Madame  Dumay. 

"Oh!  I  should  be  sure  of  it,"  Dumay  replied,  "if 
the  countess  would  allow  me  to  try  one  means,  for 
we  old  troopers  believe  in  stratagems." 

"I  will  permit  you  to  do  anything  possible  to  en- 
lighten us  unless  it  will  injure  our  child." 

"What  will  you  do,  Anne,  to  learn  the  secret  of  a 
young  girl  when  it  is  so  well  guarded?"  asked  Ma- 
dame Dumay. 

"You  must  all  obey  me,"  exclaimed  the  lieuten- 
ant, "I  shall  need  every  one." 

This  rapid  summary,  which,  if  understandingly 
developed,  would  have  furnished  an  'entire  picture 
gallery  of  manners  and  customs  in  which  many 
families  could  recognize  the  events  of  their  lives, 
will  suffice  to  make  comprehensible  the  slight 


MODESTE  MIGNON  53 

details  of  the  individuals  and  things  given  during 
this  evening  when  the  old  soldier  had  undertaken 
to  struggle  with  a  young  girl's  heart  and  force 
from  its  depths  a  love  observed  only  by  her  blind 
mother. 


An  hour  passed  in  terrible  silence,  interrupted 
only  by  the  hieroglyphic  words  of  the  whist  players : 
"Spades!  Trump!  Cut!  Have  we  the  honors? 
Two  of  clubs !  Eight  tricks !  Whose  deal  ?" — phrases 
which  constitute  to-day  the  great  emotions  of  the 
European  aristocracy.  Modeste,  who  was  em- 
broidering, was  not  surprised  at  her  mother's 
silence.  Madame  Mignon's  handkerchief  slipped 
from  her  dress  to  the  floor,  and  as  Butscha  hastened 
to  pick  it  up,  finding  himself  near  Modeste,  as  he 
rose  he  whispered  in  her  ear : 

"Be  on  your  guard." 

Modeste  looked  at  the  dwarf  with  astonished  eyes 
whose  subdued  rays  filled  him  with  ineffable  joy. 

"She  does  not  love  anyone,"  the  poor  hunchback 
said  to  himself,  rubbing  his  hands  hard  enough  to 
tear  off  the  skin. 

At  this  moment  Exupere  rushed  through  the  gar- 
den, into  the  house  and  finally  burst  into  the  draw- 
ing-room like  a  whirlwind,  and  said  in  Dumay 's 
ear: 

"The  young  man  is  here." 

Dumay  rose,  snatched  his  pistols  and  went  out 

"Mercy!  suppose  he  kill  him,"  exclaimed  Ma- 
dame Dumay,  as  she  burst  into  tears. 

"What  has  happened?"   asked  Modeste,  looking 
fearlessly  and  innocently  at  her  friends. 
(55) 


56  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Oh!  there  is  a  young  man  walking  around  the 
Chalet — "  cried  Madame  Latournelle. 

"Well,  but  why  should  Dumay  kill  him  ?"  replied 
Modeste. 

"Sancta  simplicitas!  "  exclaimed  Butscha,  looking 
at  his  master  as  proudly  as  Alexander  looks  at  Baby- 
lon in  the  great  picture  by  Lebrun. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Modeste?"  the  mother 
asked  of  her  daughter  as  she  got  up  to  leave  the  room. 

"To  prepare  everything  for  you  to  go  to  bed, 
mama,"  replied  Modeste  in  a  voice  as  pure  as  the 
tones  of  a  harmonica. 

"You  have  had  your  trouble  for  nothing,"  said 
the  dwarf  to  Dumay  when  he  returned. 

"Modeste  is  as  virtuous  as  the  Virgin  on  our 
altar,"  exclaimed  Madame  Latournelle. 

"Bless  me!  such  emotions  exhaust  me  although  I 
am  very  strong,"  said  the  cashier. 

"I  am  willing  to  lose  twenty  five  sous,  if  I  under- 
stand one  word  of  what  you  are  about  this  evening, " 
said  Gobenheim.  "You  seem  to  me  to  be  crazy." 

"Nevertheless,  it  concerns  a  treasure,"  said  But- 
scha standing  on  tiptoe  to  reach  Gobenheim's  ear. 

"Unfortunately,  Dumay,  I  am  almost  confident  of 
what  I  have  told  you,"  repeated  the  mother. 

"It  is  now  your  turn,  madame,  to  prove  to  us  that 
we  are  wrong,"  said  Dumay  in  a  calm  voice. 

Seeing  that  it  was  only  a  question  of  Modeste's 
honor,  Gobenheim  took  his  hat,  bowed,  and  went 
away  taking  with  him  ten  sous,  as  he  deemed 
another  rubber  impossible. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  57 

"Exupere,  and  you  Butscha,  leave  us,"  said  Ma- 
dame Latournelle.  "Go  into  Havre,  you  can  be 
there  in  time  to  go  to  the  theatre,  and  I  will  pay  for 
the  tickets." 

When  Madame  Mignon  was  alone  with  her  four 
friends,  Madame  Latournelle,  after  having  looked  at 
Dumay,  who  being  a  Breton,  understood  the  stub- 
bornness of  the  mother,  and  at  her  husband  who 
was  playing  with  the  cards,  thought  herself  author- 
ized to  speak  first. 

"Come  now,  Madame  Mignon,  what  decisive 
thing  has  impressed  your  mind?" 

"Ah!  my  good  friend,  if  you  were  a  musician 
you  would  already  have  heard,  as  I  have,  the 
language  of  Modeste  when  she  speaks  of  love." 

The  piano,  belonging  to  the  two  young  girls,  was 
among  the  few  pieces  of  furniture  which  had  been 
brought  from  the  town  house  to  the  Chalet,  for  the 
use  of  the  ladies.  Modeste  had  sometimes  driven 
away  her  troubles  by  studying  without  a  master, 
and,  a  born  musician,  she  played  to  cheer  her  mother. 
She  sang  naturally  and  loved  the  German  airs  her 
mother  had  taught  her.  From  these  lessons  and 
efforts  resulted  a  phenomenon  common  enough  in 
natures  having  the  true  musical  instinct;  that  is, 
without  knowing  it,  Modeste  composed  really  melo- 
dious songs,  as  one  can  compose  without  under- 
standing harmony.  Melody  is  to  music  what 
imagery  and  sentiment  are  to  poetry,  flowers  that 
can  bloom  spontaneously.  Thus  national  melodies 
preceded  the  invention  of  harmony,  as  botany  came 


58  MODESTE  MIGNON 

after  the  flowers.  So  Modeste  without  having 
learned  the  painter's  profession,  except  what  she 
had  seen  with  her  sister,  who  painted  in  water 
colors,  would  have  stood  charmed  and  spellbound 
before  a  picture  by  Raphael,  Titian,  Rubens,  Mu- 
rillo,  Rembrandt,  Albert  Diirer  or  Holbein — that  is 
before  the  beau  ideals  of  each  country.  Modeste, 
especially  for  the  last  month,  had  spent  her  time 
singing  1  ike  a  nightingale.  The  meaning  and  poetry 
of  these  attempts  had  aroused  the  attention  of  her 
mother,  who  was  greatly  surprised  to  note  her  en- 
thusiasm in  composing  and  arranging  airs  to  un- 
known words. 

"If  your  suspicions  have  no  basis,"  said  Madame 
Latournelle  to  Madame  Mignon,  "I  pity  your  sus- 
ceptibility." 

"When  the  young  girls  of  Brittany  sing,"  said 
Dumay  gloomily,  "the  lover  is  not  far  off." 

"I  will  let  you  hear  Modeste  as  she  improvises 
and  you  will  see,"  replied  the  mother. 

"Poor  child,"  said  Madame  Dumay,  "if  she  but 
knew  our  anxieties,  she  would  be  in  despair,  and 
would  tell  us  the  truth,  especially  if  she  knew  how 
it  concerned  Dumay." 

"My  friends,  I  will  question  my  daughter  to-mor- 
row," said  Madame  Mignon,  "and  perhaps  I  shall 
obtain  more  through  tenderness,  than  you  through 
strategy." 

Was  the  comedy  of  the  Ill-Guarded  Daughter  being 
enacted  there,  as  everywhere  and  always,  without 
these  good  Bartolos,  these  devoted  spies,  these  ever 


MODESTE  MIGNON  59 

vigilant  Pyrenese  dogs  being  able  to  scent,  divine 
or  see  the  lover,  the  intrigue  or  the  smoke  of  the 
fire  ?  This  was  not  the  result  of  any  defiance  be- 
tween the  guardians  and  the  prisoner,  between  the 
despotism  of  the  dungeon  and  the  liberty  of  the 
prisoner,  but  the  eternal  repetition  of  the  first  scene 
played  at  the  raising  of  Creation's  curtain — Eve  in 
Paradise.  Now  which  was  right,  the  mother  or  the 
watch-dogs  ?  None  of  the  persons  who  were  around 
Modeste  could  understand  this  young  girl's  heart, 
for,  believe  me,  her  soul  and  face  were  in  harmony. 
Modeste  had  transported  her  existence  into  a  world 
as  contradictory  to  our  day  as  was  that  of  Christo- 
pher Columbus  to  the  sixteenth  century.  Happily 
she  kept  her  feelings  to  herself,  otherwise  she 
would  have  appeared  mad.  Let  us  explain  before 
all  else  the  influence  of  the  past  upon  Modeste. 

Two  events  formed  for  all  time  the  soul,  as  they 
had  developed  the  mind,  of  this  young  girl.  Warned 
by  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen  Bettina,  Mon- 
sieur and  Madame  Mignon  had  resolved,  before  the 
failure  arrived,  to  marry  Modeste.  They  had 
chosen  the  son  of  a  rich  banker,  a  native  of  Ham- 
burg, who  had  been  living  since  1815  at  Havre,  and 
was  under  obligations  to  them.  This  young  man, 
named  Francisque  Althor,  the  dandy  of  Havre,  en- 
dowed with  that  ordinary  beauty  which  satisfies  the 
commoner  class, — he  was  what  the  English  call  a 
"masher,"  of  high  flesh  tint,  stout  and  of  powerful 
build, — abandoned  his  fiancee  so  completely  when 
he  heard  of  the  failure,  that  he  had  never  since  seen 


60  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Modeste,  Madame  Mignon  or  the  Dumays.  Latour- 
nelle  having  chanced  to  question  papa  Jacob  Althor 
on  the  subject,  the  German  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  replied,  "I  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking 
about!"  This  reply,  carried  to  Modeste  in  order  to 
give  her  experience,  was  all  the  better  understood 
as  a  lesson,  because  Latournelle  and  Dumay  made 
extended  commentaries  upon  this  ignominious 
treachery.  Charles  Mignon's  two  daughters,  spoiled 
children,  rode  horseback,  kept  their  own  horses  and 
grooms  and  otherwise  enjoyed  a  dangerous  liberty. 
Modeste  when  she  saw  herself  with  an  authorized 
lover,  had  allowed  Francisque  to  kiss  her  hand,  to 
take  her  by  the  waist  when  he  helped  her  to  mount, 
and  accepted  his  bouquets,  those  delicate  tokens 
of  tenderness  shown  to  one's  betrothed  which  accom- 
pany all  love-making.  She  had  embroidered  a 
purse  for  him,  believing  in  such  bonds,  so  strong 
for  beautiful  souls,  but  which  are  as  spider's  threads 
for  the  Gobenheims,  the  Vilquins  and  the  Althors. 
During  the  Spring  following  the  establishment 
of  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  Mignon  at  the  Chalet, 
Francisque  Althor  came  to  dine  with  the  Vilquins, 
when  catching  a  glimpse  of  Modeste  over  the  wall 
bounding  the  lawn,  he  turned  his  head  away.  Six 
weeks  later  he  married  the  elder  Mademoiselle 
Vilquin.  Modeste,  young,  beautiful  and  of  noble 
birth,  thus  learned  that  for  three  months  she  had 
been  only  Mademoiselle  Million.  The  recognized 
poverty  of  Modeste  was  thus  a  sentinel  which  de- 
fended the  approaches  to  the  Chalet  as  effectively 


MODESTE  MIGNON  6l 

as  the  prudence  of  the  Dumays  or  the  vigilance  of 
the  Latournelle  household.  Mademoiselle  Mignon 
was  only  mentioned  to  be  insulted  by  such  phrases 
as:  "Poor  girl,  what  will  become  of  her?  She 
will  remain  an  old  maid.  What  a  fate!  to  have 
seen  everyone  at  her  feet,  to  have  had  the  chance 
of  marrying  Althor's  son,  and  now  to  find  herself 
with  no  one  who  wishes  her.  To  have  known  the 
most  luxurious  life,  my  dear,  and  then  to  fall  into 
poverty."  Let  no  one  imagine  that  these  speeches 
were  made  in  secret  and  only  guessed  at  by  Modeste. 
She  heard  them  repeated  often  by  the  young  men 
and  girls  of  Havre,  who  in  walking  to  Ingouville, 
and  knowing  that  Madame  and  Mademoiselle 
Mignon  were  living  at  the  Chalet,  spoke  of  them  as 
they  passed  that  pretty  house.  Some  of  Vilquin's 
friends  were  astonished  that  these  two  women  had 
been  willing  to  live  in  the  midst  of  the  creations  of 
their  former  splendor.  Modeste,  behind  her  closed 
blinds,  often  heard  insolent  speeches  of  this  kind: 
"I  do  not  understand  how  they  can  live  there!" 
Someone  had  said  while  strolling  around  the  grounds, 
perhaps  to  help  the  Vilquins  to  drive  away  their 
tenants:  "What  do  they  live  on?  what  can  they 
do  there? — The  old  lady  has  become  blind!  Is  Ma- 
demoiselle Mignon  still  pretty?  Ah!  she  has  her 
horses  no  longer!  Dear  me,  how  she  put  on 
airs! — "  Upon  hearing  this  wild  nonsense,  the 
outcome  of  envy,  which  burst  forth  in  a  snarling, 
spiteful  tone,  even  in  regard  to  the  past,  many 
young  girls  would  have  felt  the  blood  mount  to  their 


62  MODESTE  MIGNON 

foreheads,  others  would  have  wept,  some  would 
have  been  enraged,  but  Modeste  smiled,  as  one 
smiles  at  the  theatre  when  listening  to  the  actors. 
Her  pride  did  not  descend  to  the  level  of  such  base 
speeches. 

The  other  event  was  much  more  serious  than  this 
mercenary  cowardice.  Bettina-Caroline  died  in 
Modeste's  arms,  and  was  nursed  by  her  sister  with 
the  devotion  of  youth,  and  the  curiosity  of  a  virgin 
imagination.  During  the  silence  of  night,  the  two 
sisters  exchanged  many  confidences.  With  what 
dramatic  interest  was  Bettina  clothed  in  the  eyes  of 
her  innocent  sister!  Bettina  understood  passion 
only  through  misfortune,  she  died  a  victim  of  love. 
Between  two  young  girls,  every  man,  no  matter  how 
much  of  a  rascal  he  may  be,  remains  a  lover.  Pas- 
sion is  the  one  absolute  thing  in  life,  and  it  can 
never  be  wrong.  Georges  d'Estourney,  gambler, 
criminal,  and  debauchee,  always  assumed  in  the 
minds  of  these  two  young  girls  the  form  of  the 
Parisian  dandy  admired  of  women  at  the  fe"tes  of 
Havre. — Bettina  thought  she  had  taken  him  away 
from  the  coquettish  Madame  Vilquin  to  become  her 
happy  lover. — Adoration  in  a  young  girl  is  stronger 
than  all  social  condemnation.  In  Bettina's  eyes 
justice  had  been  deceived,  or  how  could  it.  have 
condemned  a  young  man,  by  whom  she  had  been 
loved  for  six  months — passionately  loved — in  that 
mysterious  retreat  where  Georges  had  hidden  her 
in  Paris,  in  order  to  preserve  his  liberty?  The 
dying  Bettina  had  thus  implanted  in  her  sister  the 


MODESTE  MIGNON  63 

sentiment  of  love.  These  two  young  girls  had  often 
talked  of  this  grand  drama  of  passion,  which  the 
imagination  magnifies  still  more;  and  the  dead 
woman  had  carried  to  her  tomb  the  uninformed 
innocence  of  her  sister,  leaving  her,  if  not  in- 
structed, at  least  devoured  by  curiosity. 

Nevertheless,  remorse  had  too  often  plunged  its 
fangs  into  Bettina's  heart  for  her  to  dispense  with 
good  advice  to  her  sister.  In  the  midst  of  her 
avowals,  she  had  never  failed  to  preach  to  Modeste, 
and  to  recommend  to  her  an  absolute  obedience  to 
her  family.  The  night  before  her  death,  she  had 
supplicated  her  sister  to  remember  her  tear-soaked 
pillow,  and  not  to  follow  a  line  of  conduct  which  so 
much  suffering  had  barely  expiated. 

Bettina  accused  herself  of  having  brought  a  curse 
upon  her  family,  and  died  in  despair  at  not  having 
obtained  her  father's  forgiveness.  In  spite  of  reli- 
gious consolations  and  softened  by  so  much  repent- 
ance, Bettina  could  not  take  her  final  sleep  without 
exclaiming  with  her  latest  breath  in  heartrending 
tones,  "My  father!  oh!  my  father!" 

"Never  give  your  heart  without  your  hand,"  Bet- 
tina said  to  Modeste  an  hour  before  her  death,  "and 
above  all  do  not  receive  the  homage  of  any  man 
without  the  knowledge  of  mama  and  papa.—" 

These  words,  so  touching  in  their  literal  truth, 
spoken  in  the  crisis  of  her  last  agony,  were  oftener 
echoed  in  Modeste's  thoughts  than  if  Bettina  had 
dictated  the  most  solemn  oath  to  her.  This  poor 
girl,  clear-sighted  as  a  prophet,  drew  from  under  her 


64  MODESTE  MIGNON 

pillow  a  ring  on  which  she  had  had  engraved  at 
Havre  through  her  faithful  servant  Franchise  Cochet, 
these  words:  "Think  of  Bettina!  1827,"  instead  of 
any  other  device.  A  few  moments  before  she  drew 
her  last  breath,  she  placed  this  ring  upon  her  sister's 
finger,  praying  her  to  keep  it  there  until  her  mar- 
riage. 

There  was  thus  between  these  two  young  girls  a 
strange  union  of  poignant  remorse  and  artless  vis- 
ions of  the  short  summer  of  love, — to  which  had  so 
promptly  succeeded  the  deadly,  cold  atmosphere  of 
abandonment,  but  in  which  tears,  regrets  and  mem- 
ories were  always  dominated  by  the  terror  of  doing 
wrong. 

Yet  this  tragedy  of  the  girl  seduced  and  return- 
ing to  die  of  a  horrible  malady  under  the  roof  of  fallen 
splendor,  the  disaster  of  her  father,  the  cowardice 
of  her  fiance,  the  blindness  produced  by  her  mother's 
grief,  found  response  only  as  yet  in  Modeste's  out- 
ward life,  with  which  alone  the  Dumays  and  Latour- 
nelles  were  concerned,  for  no  devotion  can  take  the 
place  of  a  mother's  eye.  The  monotonous  life  in 
this  pretty  Chalet  surrounded  by  the  flowers  culti- 
vated by  Dumay;  these  habits  with  the  regularity 
of  clockwork,  this  provincial  prudence,  these  card 
parties  during  which  one  sat  and  knitted,  this 
silence  interrupted  only  by  the  roaring  of  the  sea  at 
the  time  of  the  equinox;  this  monastic  tranquillity 
concealed  a  most  tumultuous  life, — a  life  of  imagi- 
nation,— a  life  of  the  intellect.  We  sometimes 
wonder  that  young  girls  go  wrong;  but  there  does 


MODESTE  MIGNON  65 

not  exist  near  them  a  blind  mother,  to  strike  her 
intuitive  rod  upon  the  subterranean  depths  of  the 
virgin's  heart,  hollowed  out  by  fancy.  The 
Dumays  were  sleeping  when  Modeste  opened  her 
window,  fondly  imagining  that  a  man  might  pass 
by,  the  man  of  her  dreams,  the  expected  knight  who 
would  take  her  behind  him  on  his  horse  while  risk- 
ing Dumay's  fire. 

Modeste,  cast  down  after  her  sister's  death, 
plunged  into  reading,  steeping  her  mind  in  litera- 
ture. Educated  to  speak  two  languages,  she  under- 
stood German  as  well  as  French,  while  she  and  her 
sister  had  learned  English  from  Madame  Dumay. 
Modeste,  being  little  watched  over  in  this  and  by 
persons  without  instruction,  gave  her  mind  for  food 
the  modern  masterpieces  of  the  three  languages, 
English,  German  and  French.  Lord  Byron,  Goethe, 
Schiller,  Walter  Scott,  Hugo,  Lamartine,  Crabbe, 
Moore,  the  great  works  of  the  seventeenth  and  eight- 
eenth centuries,  history  and  the  drama,  novels  from 
Rabelais  to  Manon  Lescaut,  from  the  Essays  of  Mon- 
taigne to  Diderot,  from  the  Fables  to  the  Nouvelle 
Helotse, — the  thoughts  of  these  three  nationalities 
filled  with  confused  images  that  girlish  head,  sub- 
lime in  its  cold  artlessness,  its  sustained  virginity, 
but  from  which  burst  forth  brilliant,  full-armed,  a 
sincere,  strong  and  absolute  admiration  for  genius. 
A  new  book  was  a  great  event  for  Modeste ;  she 
was  happy  with  a  masterpiece  which  would  have 
frightened  Madame  Latournelle,  as  we  have  seen; 
she  grieved  when  the  book  did  not  rend  her  heart 
5 


66  MODESTE  MIGNON 

An  innate  sentimentality  worked  in  this  soul,  full  of 
the  beautiful  illusions  of  youth.  But  not  one  ray 
of  this  burning  life  came  to  the  surface.  It  escaped 
the  view  of  both  Lieutenant  Dumay  and  his  wife, 
as  well  as  the  Latournelles,  and  only  the  ears  of  the 
blind  mother  heard  the  crackling  of  the  flame.  The 
profound  disdain  which  Modeste  had  conceived  for 
ordinary  men,  soon  impressed  on  her  face  an  inde- 
scribable air  of  pride,  of  harshness  even,  which 
modified  her  Germanic  artlessness  and  which  cor- 
responded also  with  a  detail  of  her  physiognomy. 
The  roots  of  her  hair,  forming  a  point  on  her  fore- 
head, seemed  to  continue  the  slight  line  already 
formed  by  thought  between  her  eyebrows,  thus 
making  this  expression  of  firmness  a  1  ittle  too  strong. 
The  voice  of  this  charming  child,  whom,  on  account 
of  her  mind,  Charles,  before  his  departure,  had 
called  his  Little  Solomon,  had  acquired  the  most 
delicious  flexibility  from  the  study  of  three  lan- 
guages. This  advantage  was  still  more  enhanced 
by  the  timbre  of  the  voice,  which  was  both  smooth 
and  fresh  and  impressed  the  heart  as  much  as  the 
ear.  If  the  mother  could  not  see  the  hope  of  a  great 
destiny  written  upon  this  forehead,  she  studied  the 
transitions  of  the  growth  of  a  soul  in  the  accents 
of  this  amorous  voice. 


With  Modeste,  after  the  period  of  this  eager  read- 
ing, there  followed  the  play  of  that  strange  faculty 
given  to  imaginative  minds,  that  of  making  them- 
selves actors  in  a  life  of  mere  dreams;  of  repre- 
senting to  one's  self  the  things  desired  with  an 
impression  so  keen  that  it  borders  on  reality,  to 
enjoy  by  the  sentiment,  to  surmount  everything 
even  to  the  years,  to  being  married,  to  seeing  one's 
self  old,  to  assisting  at  one's  own  funeral,  as  did 
Charles  V.  ;  in  short,  to  enact  in  one's  self  the 
comedy  of  life  and,  if  need  be,  of  death.  Modeste 
was  playing  the  comedy  of  love.  She  imagined 
herself  adored  to  her  heart's  content,  passing  through 
all  the  social  phases.  Having  become  the  heroine 
of  a  sad  novel,  she  loved  either  a  brute  or  some  ras- 
cal who  ended  upon  the  scaffold,  or,  like  her  sister, 
some  fashionable  young  man  without  a  sou  whose 
life  was  confined  to  the  sixth  story.  She  imagined 
herself  a  courtesan,  and  made  fun  of  her  admirers 
in  the  midst  of  continual  f£tes,  as  did  Ninon.  She 
led  in  turn  the  life  of  an  adventuress,  or  that  of  a 
much-applauded  actress,  exhausting  the  adventures 
of  Gil  Bias,  and  the  triumphs  of  Pasta,  Malibran 
and  Florine.  Then,  weary  of  horrors,  she  returned 
to  actual  life.  She  had  married  a  lawyer,  she  ate 
the  brown  bread  of  an  honest  everyday  life  and 
saw  herself  reflected  in  Madame  Latournelle.  She 

(67) 


68  MODESTE  MIGNON 

accepted  a  painful  existence,  she  bore  the  bustle  of 
fortune-making.  Then  she  recommenced  the 
romances.  She  was  loved  for  her  beauty  by  a  son 
of  a  peer  of  France,  an  eccentric  young  man,  an 
artist,  divined  her  heart  and  recognized  the  star 
which  the  genius  of  the  de  Staels  had  placed  upon 
her  forehead.  Finally,  her  father  returned  with 
millions.  Justified  by  her  experience,  she  sub- 
jected her  lovers  to  ordeals  in  which  she  guarded 
her  own  independence.  She  possessed  a  magnifi- 
cent chateau,  with  servants,  equipages,  everything 
that  luxury  could  present  which  was  rare,  and  she 
mystified  her  lovers  until  she  was  forty  years  old, 
at  which  age  she  made  her  decision.  This  edition 
of  The  Thousand  and  One  Nights,  of  which  only  one 
copy  was  printed,  lasted  one  year  and  gave  Modeste, 
in  thought,  the  experience  of  satiety.  Too  often 
she  had  held  her  life  in  the  hollow  of  her  hand,  she 
had  said  to  herself  philosophically  and  with  too 
much  bitterness,  with  too  much  seriousness  and  too 
often:  "Well!  and  afterwards? — "  not  to  plunge 
herself  up  to  her  waist  into  that  profound  disgust 
into  which  the  earnest  men  of  genius  fall,  only  to 
withdraw  themselves  through  the  tremendous  labor 
of  the  work  to  which  they  have  dedicated  themselves. 
Had  it  not  been  for  her  rich  nature,  for  her  youth, 
Modeste  would  have  gone  into  a  convent  This 
satiety  threw  this  girl,  already  filled  with  catholic 
grace,  into  the  love  of  the  Good,  into  the  infinity 
of  Heaven.  She  thought  of  charity  as  an  occupa- 
tion for  life;  but  she  crept  back  into  a  dejected 


MODESTE  MIGNON  69 

melancholy  in  not  being  able  to  find  food  for  the 
fancies  crouching  in  her  heart  like  a  venomous 
insect  at  the  bottom  of  a  calyx.  Yet  she  tranquilly 
sewed  on  garments  for  poor  women's  children,  and 
listened  with  an  absent  manner  to  the  grumblings 
of  Monsieur  Latournelle  to  Monsieur  Dumay,  for 
having  cut  a  thirteenth  card,  or  for  having  drawn 
his  last  trump.  Her  faith  drove  Modeste  into  a 
strange  pathway.  She  imagined  by  becoming  irre- 
proachable— speaking  from  a  catholic  point  of  view 
— she  would  arrive  at  such  a  condition  of  sanctity, 
that  God  would  listen  to  her  and  grant  her  desires. 

Faith  according  to  Jesus  Christ  can  move  mount- 
ains, the  Savior  led  His  apostle  on  the  Lake  of 
Tiberius;  but  I,  I  ask  only  a  husband  of  God,  she 
said  to  herself;  that  is  surely  easier  than  to  walk 
upon  the  waters. 

She  fasted  an  entire  Lent  and  did  not  commit  the 
least  sin;  then  she  told  herself  that  some  day  in 
leaving  the  church  she  would  meet  a  fine  young 
man,  worthy  of  her  and  of  whom  her  mother  would 
approve  and  who,  madly  in  love,  would  follow  her. 

The  day  which  she  had  assigned  to  God  for  the 
purpose  of  sending  an  angel  to  her,  she  was  obsti- 
nately followed  by  a  poor  wretch,  disgusting  enough 
in  appearance.  It  rained  in  torrents  and  there  was 
not  a  single  young  man  in  sight.  She  went  to  walk 
upon  the  quay  to  watch  the  Englishmen  disembark, 
but  each  of  them  had  an  Englishwoman  with  him, 
almost  as  pretty  as  Modeste,  and  there  was  not  the 
least  trace  of  a  wandering  Childe  Harold.  This 


70  MODESTE  MIGNON 

time  tears  overcame  her  when,  like  Marius,  she 
seated  herself  on  the  ruins  of  her  fancies.  One  day, 
when  she  had  summoned  God's  aid  for  the  third 
time,  she  believed  that  the  chosen  one  of  her  dreams 
had  entered  the  church  and,  perhaps,  hidden  him- 
self through  delicacy  behind  one  of  the  pillars,  so 
she  took  Madame  Latournelle  on  a  tour  of  inspec- 
tion. This  blow  deprived  her  of  all  belief  in  the 
power  of  God  to  help  her.  She  often  held  conver- 
sations with  this  imaginary  lover,  inventing  ques- 
tions and  replies,  and  ascribing  much  intelligence 
to  him. 

The  excessive  ambition  of  her  heart  hidden  in 
these  romances,  was  the  cause  of  that  prudence  of 
conduct  so  much  admired  by  the  good  people  who 
guarded  Modeste ;  they  might  have  brought  many 
Francisque  Althors  and  Vilquin  sons  to  her,  and 
she  would  not  have  stooped  to  such  clowns.  She 
desired  purely  and  simply  a  man  of  genius,  talent 
seemed  to  her  a  small  thing,  even  as  a  lawyer  is 
nothing  to  a  girl  who  limits  herself  to  an  ambassa- 
dor. She  desired  riches  only  to  throw  them  at  the 
feet  of  her  idol.  The  gold  background,  upon  which 
the  figures  of  her  dreams  were  outlined,  was  even 
less  rich  than  her  heart,  full  of  womanly  delicacy, 
for  her  one  thought  was  to  render  happy  and  rich  a 
Tasso,  a  Milton,  a  Jean- Jacques  Rousseau,  a  Murat, 
a  Christopher  Columbus.  Ordinary  misfortunes 
made  little  impression  upon  this  youthful  soul  who 
wished  to  extinguish  the  funeral  piles  of  those 
martyrs  often  ignored  during  their  lifetime. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  71 

Modeste  thirsted  for  the  unnamed  sorrows,  the  grand 
suffering  of  thought  Sometimes  she  composed 
balms,  she  invented  refinements,  music  and  the 
thousand  means  by  which  she  could  have  calmed  the 
savage  misanthropy  of  Jean- Jacques.  Sometimes 
she  imagined  herself  the  wife  of  Lord  Byron  and 
almost  comprehended  his  disdain  of  the  real,  in 
making  herself  as  fantastic  as  the  poetry  of  Man- 
fred and  understood  his  doubts  in  making  him  a 
Catholic.  Modeste  reproached  all  the  women  of 
the  seventeenth  century  for  the  melancholy  of 
Moliere. 

"Why,"  she  asked  herself,  "was  there  not  one 
woman,  loving,  rich  and  beautiful,  to  stand  by 
every  man  of  geni-us  and  become  his  slave  like  Lara, 
the  mysterious  page?" 

She  had,  you  will  see,  well  understood  the  sorrow 
which  the  English  poet  sang  through  the  character 
of  Gulnare.  She  greatly  admired  the  act  of  that 
young  English  girl  who  offered  herself  to  the  son  of 
Crebillon  and  whom  he  married.  The  story  of 
Sterne  and  Eliza  Draper  made  her  life  and  happi- 
ness for  several  months.  Having  become,  in  imagi- 
nation, the  heroine  of  a  like  romance,  she  more  than 
once  studied  the  sublime  role  of  Eliza.  The  admi- 
rable tenderness  so  graciously  expressed  in  this 
correspondence,  dimmed  her  eyes  with  tears,  which 
it  is  said  were  wanting  in  those  of  the  cleverest 
English  authors. 

Modeste  also  lived  for  a  time  through  the  compre- 
hension, not  only  of  the  works,  but  also  of  the 


72  MODESTE  MIGNON 

characters  of  her  favorite  authors.  Goldsmith,  the 
author  of  Obermann,  Charles  Nodier,  Maturin,  the 
poorest  and  most  suffering  among  them,  were  her 
deities.  She  divined  their  sorrows,  she  initiated 
herself  into  their  destitution  so  intermingled  with 
celestial  ideas  and  she  poured  out  the  treasures  of 
her  heart  for  them ;  she  saw  herself  the  author  of 
the  material  well-being  of  these  artists,  martyrs  to 
their  faculties.  This  noble  tender-heartedness,  this 
intuition  of  the  difficulties  of  work,  this  worship  of 
talent,  is  one  of  the  rarest  fancies  which  has  ever 
glowed  in  the  womanly  heart.  At  first  it  is  like  a 
secret  between  the  woman  and  her  God ;  for  there 
is  in  it  nothing  striking,  nothing  which  flatters  the 
vanity — that  powerful  auxiliary  to  noble  actions  in 
France.  During  this  third  period  of  the  develop- 
ment of  her  ideas,  there  was  born  in  Modeste  a  pas- 
sionate desire  to  penetrate  into  the  heart  of  one  of 
these  anomalous  existences,  to  understand  the  forces 
of  thought,  the  innermost  woes  of  genius;  to  know 
not  only  what  he  wishes  to  be,  but  what  he  is. 
Thus  with  her,  these  vagaries  of  Fancy,  the  voyages 
of  her  soul  into  space,  the  glances  darted  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  future,  the  impatience  of  an  un- 
formed love  to  reach  its  goal,  the  nobility  of  her 
ideas  as  to  life,  her  resolution  to  suffer  in  an  ele- 
vated sphere  instead  of  paddling  around  in  the 
swamps  of  a  provincial  life,  as  her  mother  had  done, 
the  pledge  which  she  maintained  with  herself  not  to 
do  wrong,  but  to  respect  the  paternal  hearth-stone 
and  bring  only  joy  to  her  home — all  this  world  of 


MODESTE  MIGNON  73 

sentiments  finally  found  expression   and   definite 
shape. 

Modeste  wished  to  become  the  companion  of  a 
poet,  an  artist,  in  short,  a  man  superior  to  the  mass 
of  men ;  but  she  wished  to  choose  him  herself,  to  give 
him  her  heart,  her  life,  her  great  tenderness  free 
from  the  storminess  of  passion,  only,  however,  after 
having  subjected  him  to  profound  study.  She  com- 
menced by  thinking  over  and  enjoying  this  little 
romance.  The  most  perfect  tranquillity  reigned 
in  her  soul.  Her  cheeks  took  on  a  delicate  color. 
She  became  the  beautiful  and  sublime  image  of 
Germany  which  you  have  seen,  the  glory  of  the 
Chalet  and  the  pride  of  Madame  Latournelle  and 
the  Dumays. 

Modeste  led  then  a  double  existence.  Humbly 
and  lovingly  she  performed  all  the  details  of  the 
everyday  life  at  the  Chalet,  she  made  use  of  it  as  a 
curb  to  keep  in  subjection  her  ideal  life,  in  imita- 
tion of  the  Carthusian  monks,  who  occupy  them- 
selves and  regulate  their  material  life  in  order  to 
permit  the  soul  to  develop  itself  in  prayer.  All 
great  minds  bind  themselves  down  to  some  mechan- 
ical work  in  order  to  make  themselves  masters  of 
their  thoughts.  Spinosa  ground  glass  for  spectacles, 
Bayle  counted  roof-tiles,  Montesquieu  worked  in  the 
garden.  The  body  thus  controlled,  the  soul  may 
spread  its  wings  with  security.  Madame  Mignon, 
who  read  her  daughter's  heart,  was  then  right. 
Modeste  loved,  she  loved  with  that  platonic  love  so 
rare,  so  little  understood,  the  first  illusion  of  a 


74  MODESTE  MIGNON 

young  girl,  the  most  delicate  of  all  sentiments — a 
very  dainty  of  the  heart.  She  quaffed  long  draughts 
from  the  cup  of  the  unknown,  the  impossible,  the 
visionary.  She  admired  the  blue  bird  of  Paradise 
of  youth  which  sings  afar  off,  and  upon  which  the 
hand  can  never  rest,  which  allows  itself  only  to  be 
caught  sight  of,  and  which  no  shot  can  reach,  whose 
magical  colors,  like  scintillating  gems,  dazzle  the 
eyes,  and  which  is  never  seen  again  when  Reality, 
that  hideous  hag,  appears,  accompanied  by  witnesses 
and  the  mayor.  To  have  all  the  poetry  of  love 
without  seeing  the  lover!  What  a  gentle  debauch! 
What  a  chimera  with  flowing  mane  and  outspread 
wings! 

And  here  is  the  trivial  and  foolish  chance  which 
decided  the  life  of  this  young  girl. 

Modeste  saw  on  the  shelf  of  a  bookseller  the  lith- 
ograph portrait  of  Canalis,  one  of  her  favorites. 
You  know  how  false  these  sketches  are,  which  are 
the  outcome  of  hideous  speculations  which  take  as 
their  object  the  persons  of  celebrated  people,  as  if 
their  faces  were  public  property.  Now  Canalis  was 
presented  in  a  very  Byronic  pose,  for  the  admiration 
of  the  public;  his  hair  in  a  gale  of  wind,  his  throat 
bare,  his  forehead  out  of  proportion,  as  every  bard's 
should  be.  The  forehead  of  Victor  Hugo  has  caused 
the  hair  to  be  cut  from  as  many  foreheads,  as  the 
glory  of  Napoleon  has  caused  marshals,  in  embryo, 
to  be  killed. 

This  face,  made  sublime  by  commercial  necessity, 
struck  Modeste.  The  day  upon  which  she  bought 


MODESTE  MIGNON  75 

this  portrait,  one  of  the  most  beautiful  works  of 
d'Arthez  appeared,  and  even  if  Modeste  suffers  in 
your  opinion,  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  she 
hesitated  a  long  time  between  the  illustrious  poet 
and  the  famous  prose-writer.  But  were  these  two 
celebrated  men  free? 

Modeste  commenced  by  assuring  herself  of  the  co- 
operation of  Francoise  Cochet,  the  girl  who  was 
taken  away  and  brought  back  to  Havre  by  poor  Bet- 
tina-Caroline,  whom  Mesdames  Mignon  and 
Dumay,  preferring  to  all  others,  hired  by  the 
day  and  who  lived  at  Havre.  She  took  this  suffi- 
ciently discredited  girl  to  her  room,  assured  her  that 
she  would  never  bring  the  least  sorrow  to  her 
parents,  and  never  overstep  the  limits  imposed  upon 
a  young  girl.  She  also  assured  Francoise  that  later, 
upon  the  return  of  her  father,  she  should  have  a 
restful  life  for  the  rest  of  her  days  provided  she 
kept  the  secret  inviolate,  of  the  service  she  de- 
manded. What  was  this?  A  small  and  innocent 
thing  surely.  All  that  Modeste  asked  of  her  accom- 
plice was  to  mail  some  letters  and  to  take  from  the 
office  those  addressed  to  Francoise  Cochet.  The 
compact  made,  Modeste  wrote  a  polite  little  note  to 
Dauriat,  the  publisher  of  the  poems  of  Canal  is,  in 
which  she  asked  him,  in  the  interest  of  the  great 
poet,  if  Canal  is  were  married;  then  she  begged  him 
to  address  his  reply  to  Mademoiselle  Franchise, 
poste  restante,  Havre. 

Dauriat,  incapable  of  considering  this  letter  se- 
riously, replied  by  a  letter  written  while  five  or  six 


76  MODESTE  MIGNON 

journalists  were  in  his  office,  all  of  whom  added 
their  witticisms. 


MADEMOISELLE: 

Canalis  (Baron  de)  Constant-Cyr-Melchior,  member  of  the 
French  Academy,  born  in  1800,  at  Ganalis  (Corrfcze),  height, 
five  feet  four  inches,  in  good  condition,  vaccinated,  of  pure 
blood,  has  satisfactorily  arranged  his  conscription,  enjoys 
perfect  health,  owns  a  little  patrimonial  estate  in  Correze  and 
wishes  to  marry,  but  the  lady  must  be  very  rich. 

He  bears  per  pale,  gules  an  axe  or,  sable  three  escallops  argent, 
above  which  is  a  baron's  coronet;  supporters,  two  larches,  vert. 
Device :  OR  ET  PER  ( — never  aurifere — auriferous). 

The  original  Canalis,  who  went  to  the  Holy  Land  with  the 
First  Crusade,  according  to  the  chronicles  of  Auvergne,  is 
related  to  have  been  armed  only  with  an  axe  on  account  of 
the  extreme  indigence  of  the  family  at  that  time,  which  still 
weighs  upon  the  race.  Thence  comes,  doubtless,  the  escutch- 
eon. The  axe  has  given  place  to  the  shell.  This  lofty 
baron  is  still  celebrated  to-day  for  having  routed  a  great  num- 
ber of  infidels,  and  died  at  Jerusalem  without  or  or/er,  naked 
as  a  worm,  on  the  way  to  Ascalon,  ambulances  being  then 
unknown. 

The  chateau  of  Canalis — there  are  some  chestnuts  grown 
there— consists  of  two  dilapidated  towers  joined  by  a  crum- 
bling wall  remarkable  for  the  fine  ivy  which  grows  on  it,  and 
is  taxed  at  twenty-two  francs. 

The  undersigned  editor  begs  to  observe  that  he  buys 
volumes  of  Monsieur  de  Canalis's  poems  at  ten  thousand 
francs  each  volume,  as  the  author  does  not  give  away  his 
shells.  The  poet  of  Correze  lives  in  Rue  de  Paradis-Poisson- 
niere,  number  29,  which  is  a  very  convenient  quarter  for  a 
poet  of  the  angelic  school.  The  vers  attract  the  gudgeons. 
Letters  must  be  post-paid. 

Some  noble  ladies  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  are  said 
to  take  their  way  to  Paradise  and  protect  this  god.  King 


MODESTE  MIGNON  77 

Charles  X.  thinks  so  highly  of  this  great  poet  as  to  believe 
him  capable  of  becoming  administrator ;  he  has  recently  nom- 
inated him  as  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and,  what 
is  worth  more,  master  of  the  Court  of  Claims  at  the  min- 
istry of  Foreign  Affairs.  These  functions  do  not  prevent  the 
great  man  from  drawing  a  pension  of  three  thousand  francs 
from  the  funds  intended  for  the  encouragement  of  art  and 
literature.  This  money  success  causes  an  eighth  plague  in 
the  library  which  Egypt  escaped— Us  vers. 

The  last  edition  of  the  works  of  Canalis,  printed  on  vellum, 
with  illustrations  by  Bixiou,  Joseph  Bridau,  Schinner,  Som- 
mervieux,  etc.,  published  by  Didot,  is  in  five  volumes,  price 
nine  francs  by  mail 

This  letter  fell  like  a  paving-stone  on  a  tulip.  A 
poet,  master  of  the  Court  of  Claims  drawing  a  sal- 
ary at  the  ministry,  and  receiving  a  pension,  seek- 
ing a  red  decoration,  flattered  by  the  women  of  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain — did  he  resemble  the 
wretched  poet  strolling  along  the  quays,  sad, 
dreamy,  tired  out  by  work  and  mounting  to  his  attic 
freighted  with  poetry? — However,  Modeste  divined 
the  sarcasm  of  the  envious  bookseller  who  said:  "I 
made  Canalis!  I  made  Nathan!"  Besides,  she 
had  re-read  the  poems  of  Canalis,  which  were  ex- 
tremely seductive,  full  of  hypocrisy,  and  need  a 
word  of  analysis  to  explain  to  you  her  enchantment 

Canalis  differs  from  Lamartine,  the  chief  of  the 
angelic  school,  by  his  wheedling  tone  as  of  a  sick- 
nurse,  by  a  treacherous  sweetness,  and  a  delightful 
correctness.  If  the  chief  with  his  sublime  cries  is 
an  eagle,  Canalis,  white  and  rose,  is  a  flamingo. 
In  him,  women  find  the  friend  they  need,  a  discreet 


78  MODESTE  MIGNON 

confidant,  their  interpreter,  a  being  who  understands 
them,  and  who  explains  them  to  themselves.  The 
large  margins  left  on  the  last  edition  by  Dauriat 
were  covered  over  with  notes  written  by  Modeste's 
pencil  expressive  of  her  sympathy  with  this  dream- 
ful and  tender  soul.  Canal  is  does  not  possess  the 
gift  of  life,  he  cannot  breathe  existence  into  his 
creations;  but  he  knows  how  to  calm  the  vague  suf- 
ferings such  as  assailed  Modeste.  He  speaks  in 
their  own  language  to  young  girls,  he  soothes  the 
suffering  of  the  most  bleeding  wounds,  he  stills 
their  moans,  even  their  sobs.  His  talent  does  not 
consist  so  much  in  making  stirring  speeches  to  those 
who  suffer,  in  giving  them  a  remedy  in  arousing 
strong  emotions ;  he  is  content  to  say  to  them  in  a 
harmonious  voice  which  they  trust:  "I  too  am  un- 
happy, I  understand  you  well,  come  to  me  and  let 
us  weep  together  on  the  border  of  this  brook  under 
the  willows."  And  they  follow  him,  they  listen  to 
his  empty  and  sonorous  poetry  as  children  listen  to 
a  nurse's  song.  Canal  is  is  like  Nodier  in  this,  he 
enchants  you  by  a  naivete,  natural  to  the  prose 
writer,  but  sought  after  by  Canal  is,  by  his  finesse, 
his  smile,  his  leaf-shed  flowers,  his  infantine  phil- 
osophy. He  imitates  so  well  the  language  of  our 
youth,  that  he  leads  us  back  into  the  fields  of  illu- 
sion. We  are  pitiless  with  the  eagles,  we  demand 
from  them  the  qualities  of  the  diamond,  incorrup- 
tible perfection;  but  with  Canalis  one  is  content 
with  him  as  he  is,  without  wishing  for  more.  He 
seems  a  good  fellow  and  above  all,  human.  The 


MODESTE  MIGNON  79 

affectations  of  the  angelic  poet  succeed  with  him, 
just  as  those  of  a  woman  who  plays  well  the  part  of 
an  inggnue,  the  surprised,  the  youth,  the  victim, 
the  wounded  angel,  will  always  succeed.  While 
receiving  these  impressions  Modeste  had  confidence 
in  that  soul,  and  in  that  countenance  as  ravishing 
as  that  of  Bernardin  de  Saint-Pierre.  She  paid 
no  heed  to  the  publisher,  and  about  the  beginning  of 
the  month  of  August  she  wrote  the  following  letter 
to  this  Dorat  of  the  Sacristy,  who  still  holds  his 
own  as  one  of  the  stars  of  the  modern  Pleiades : 


TO  MONSIEUR  DE  CANALIS 

"Many  times,  monsieur,  I  have  wished  to  write  to 
you  and  why?  you  can  guess  it: — to  tell  you  how  I 
admire  your  great  talent  Yes,  I  indeed  need  to 
express  to  you  the  admiration  of  a  poor  country  girl, 
alone  in  her  corner,  and  whose  greatest  happiness 
is  to  read  your  poetry.  I  come  from  Rene  to  you. 
Melancholy  follows  revery.  How  many  women 
have  sent  you  the  homage  of  their  secret  thoughts 
— what  chance  have  I  to  be  noticed  in  this  crowd  ? 
How  can  this  paper — filled  as  it  is  with  my  soul — 
be  more  to  you  than  all  the  perfumed  sheets  which 
beset  you?  I  present  myself  with  more  anxiety 
than  any  other ;  and  I  wish  to  remain  unknown  to 
you,  and  I  crave  an  entire  confidence,  as  if  you  had 
known  me  for  a  long  time. 


80  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Be  good  to  me  and  answer  my  letter.  I  do  not 
promise  to  make  myself  known  to  you  some  day, 
however  I  do  not  say  absolutely  that  I  will  not 
What  can  I  add  to  this  letter  ? — Then  monsieur,  see 
in  it  a  great  effort,  and  permit  me  to  offer  you  my 
hand,  oh !  such  a  friendly  hand — that  of 

"Your  servant, 
"O.  D'ESTE-M." 


"If  you  do  me  the  kindness  to  reply  to  this, 
address  your  letter,  please,  to  Mademoiselle  F. 
Cochet,  paste  restante,  Havre." 


MODESTE  MIGNON  TO   CANALIS 


"Many  times,  monsieur,  I  have  wished  to  write  to 
you  and  why  ?  you  can  guess  it : — to  tell  you  hoiv  I 
admire  your  great  talent.  Yes,  I  indeed  need  to 
express  to  you  the  admiration  of  a  poor  country  girl, 
alone  in  her  corner,  and  whose  greatest  happiness 
is  to  read  your  poetry.  *  *  *  How  many  women 
have  sent  you  the  homage  of  their  secret  thoughts 
*  *  *  Hoiv  can  this  paper — -filled  as  it  is  with  my 
soul — " 


Now  all  young  girls,  romantic  or  otherwise,  can 
imagine  in  what  impatience  Modeste  spent  the  next 
few  days !  The  air  was  full  of  tongues  of  fire.  The 
trees  seemed  bedecked  with  plumage.  She  did  not 
realize  that  she  had  a  body,  but  floated  in  space,  the 
earth  seemed  to  bend  beneath  her  feet  Delighted 
with  the  institution  of  the  post-office,  she  followed 
her  little  sheet  of  paper  on  its  journey  and  was 
happy  as  one  is  happy  at  twenty  in  the  first  exer- 
cise of  one's  will.  She  was  occupied,  possessed  as 
one  in  the  Middle  Ages.  She  imagined  his  apart- 
ment the  poet's  desk,  she  saw  him  break  the  seal 
of  her  letter  and  she  made  endless  suppositions 
about  it 

After  having  sketched  his  poetry,  it  becomes 
necessary  to  give  the  profile  of  the  poet  Canal  is 
is  a  dried-up  little  man  of  aristocratic  appearance, 
dark  complexion,  with  a  calf-like  face  and  a  slender 
head  like  that  of  a  man  who  has  more  vanity  than 
pride.  He  loves  luxury,  style  and  splendor,  and 
money  is  more  necessary  to  him  than  to  most  men. 
Proud  of  his  noble  birth,  as  much  as  of  his  talent, 
he  has  injured  the  importance  of  his  ancestry  by 
making  too  much  of  them,  for  after  all  the  Canalises 
are  not  the  Negrepelisses,  nor  the  Cadignans,  nor 
theGrandlieus,  northeNavarreins;  however,  nature 
has  served  his  claims  well.  He  has  those  eyes  of 
6  (8i 


82  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Oriental  brightness  which  we  demand  in  a  poet,  a 
charm  of  manner,  and  a  vibrating  voice;  but  a  nat- 
ural charlatanism  destroys  nearly  all  these  advan- 
tages. He  is  really  a  comedian.  If  he  advances  a 
well -shaped  foot,  it  is  because  it  has  become  a 
habit.  If  he  uses  declamatory  phrases,  it  is  because 
they  are  his  own.  If  he  takes  a  dramatic  pose,  it  is 
because  he  has  made  his  deportment  second  nature. 
Faults  of  this  kind  harmonize  with  an  ever-present 
generosity,  which  he  displays,  which  we  must  call 
knight-errantry  in  contrast  to  chivalry.  Canal  is 
has  not  enough  faith  for  a  Don  Quixote,  but  he  is 
too  lofty  not  to  put  himself  on  the  nobler  side  of  a 
question.  His  poetry,  which  makes  these  feverish 
outbreaks  at  every  turn,  really  injures  the  poet  who 
does  not  lack  mind,  but  his  talent  prevents  him 
from  using  it  properly;  he  is  dominated  by  his  rep- 
utation and  tries  to  make  it  appear  greater  than  it 
is.  Thus,  as  very  often  happens,  the  man  is  not  in 
complete  accord  with  the  products  of  his  brain. 
These  wheedling,  naive,  tender  pieces,  these  calm 
verses,  pure  as  a  frozen  lake,  this  caressing  femi- 
nine poesy  has  for  author,  an  ambitious  little  man 
in  a  tightly-buttoned  frock-coat,  a  diplomatic  bear- 
ing, dreaming  of  political  influence,  fulsomely  aris- 
tocratic, perfumed  and  pretentious,  thirsting  for  the 
money  necessary  to  his  ambition,  already  spoiled 
by  his  success  in  two  directions:  crowned  by  the 
laurel  and  the  myrtle.  With  an  office  worth  eight 
thousand  francs,  a  pension  of  three  thousand  francs, 
two  thousand  francs  from  the  Academy,  three 


MODESTE  MIGNON  83 

thousand  from  his  inherited  estate — less  the  neces- 
sary repairs  of  the  Canal  is  land — a  total  of  fifteen 
thousand  francs  fixed,  plus  the  ten  thousand  francs 
on  an  average  which  accrued  from  his  poetry — in 
all  twenty-five  thousand  francs.  For  the  hero  of 
Modeste,  however,  this  sum  constituted  so  pre- 
carious a  fortune  that  he  usually  spent  five  or  six 
thousand  francs  over  his  income;  but  the  king's 
private  purse  and  the  secret  funds  of  the  ministry 
had  heretofore  made  up  this  deficit.  He  had 
written  a  hymn  for  the  king's  coronation  which  had 
been  worth  a  whole  silver  service  to  him.  He  had 
refused  to  accept  money,  saying  that  a  Canal  is 
owed  homage  to  the  King  of  France.  The  cheval  ier- 
king  smiled  and  ordered  from  Odiot  a  costly  edition 
of  the  verses  of  Zaire. 

Ah  !  rhymester,  you  would  flatter  yourself, 
By  effacing  Charles  the  Tenth  in  generosity. 

About  this  time  Canal  is  had,  according  to  the 
journalists'  picturesque  way  of  putting  it,  emptied 
his  budget;  he  did  not  feel  capable  of  inventing  a 
new  form  in  poetry;  his  lyre  did  not  possess  seven 
strings;  it  had  only  one;  and  having  been  forced  to 
harp  on  it  for  so  long,  the  public  left  him  no  alter- 
native but  to  hang  himself  with  it  or  be  mute.  De 
Marsay,  who  did  not  like  Canal  is,  made  a  jesting 
remark  whose  poisonous  point  had  wounded  his 
self-esteem. 

"Canalis,"  he  said,  "puts  me  in  mind  of  a  brave 
man  who  was  sought  out  by  Frederick  the  Great 


84  MODESTE  MIGNON 

after  a  battle  and  commended  because  he  had  never 
ceased  tooting  his  one  little  tune." 

Canal  is  wished  to  become  a  politician  and  to  fur- 
ther this  end,  he  made  use  of  a  journey  he  had  once 
made  to  Madrid  as  the  ambassador  of  the  Due  de 
Chaulieu;  but  according  to  the  gossip  of  the  salons, 
he  really  went  as  an  attache  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Chaulieu.  How  often  a  word  of  gossip  has  decided 
the  whole  course  of  a  man's  life!  The  former  pres- 
ident of  the  Cisalpine  Republic,  Colla,  the  greatest 
lawyer  of  the  Piedmontese,  was  told  by  a  friend  at 
the  age  of  forty  that  he  knew  nothing  of  botany. 
He  was  piqued,  he  became  a  second  Jussieu,  culti- 
vated flowers,  introduced  new  ones,  and  published 
in  Latin,  The  Flora  of  Piedmont,  a  work  of  ten 
years. 

"After  all,  Canning  and  Chateaubriand  are  both 
politicians,"  the  crushed  poet  said  to  himself,  "and 
De  Marsay  will  find  his  master  in  me  yet." 

Canal  is  would  have  been  glad  to  write  some 
great  political  work,  but  he  was  afraid  of  compro- 
mising himself  with  French  prose,  whose  require- 
ments are  severe  for  those  who  take  four  alexandrines 
to  express  a  single  idea.  Of  all  the  poets  of  our 
time,  only  three,  Hugo,  Theophile  Gautier  and  De 
Vigny,  have  been  able  to  unite  the  double  glory  of 
successful  poetry  and  prose,  as  did  also  Racine  and 
Voltaire,  Moliere  and  Rabelais.  This  is  one  of  the 
rarest  distinctions  of  French  literature  and  should, 
above  everything  else,  distinguish  the  real  poet 
among  us.  So  then  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain 


MODESTE  MIGNON  85 

poet  did  wisely  to  keep  his  chariot  under  the  pro- 
tecting roof  of  the  administration.  In  taking  the 
position  of  Mattre  des  Requetes,  he  experienced  the 
need  of  a  secretary,  a  friend  who  could  take  his 
place  on  many  occasions,  look  after  his  interests 
with  publishers,  see  to  his  laudations  in  the  news- 
papers and,  if  need  be,  aid  him  in  politics,  to  be,  in 
short,  his  right-hand  man.  Many  celebrated  men 
in  science,  art  or  letters  in  Paris  have  one  or  two 
train-bearers,  a  captain  of  the  guards  or  a  chamber- 
lain who  live  in  the  halo  which  surrounds  them, 
a  species  of  aides-de-camp  intrusted  with  delicate 
missions,  even  allowing  themselves  to  be  compro- 
mised, if  necessary,  while  working  at  the  pedestal  of 
their  idol ;  neither  altogether  their  servants  nor  yet 
their  equals;  bold  in  their  defense,  the  first  in  the 
breach,  covering  their  retreats,  occupying  them- 
selves in  their  interest  and  devoted  as  long  as  their 
illusions  last,  or  until  their  desires  are  satisfied. 
Some  satellites  recognize  a  slight  ingratitude  in 
their  great  men ;  others  perceive  that  they  are  sim- 
ple tools  and  tire  of  the  position;  few  are  contented 
with  that  sweet  equality  of  feeling,  the  only  reward 
which  one  ought  to  seek  in  an  intimacy  with  a 
superior  mind — a  reward  which  satisfied  Ali  when 
Mahomet  raised  him  to  his  level.  Many  of  these 
men,  misled  by  their  vanity,  presume  themselves 
to  be  as  capable  as  the  great  man  himself.  Devotion, 
such  as  Modeste  conceived  it,  is  indeed  rare,  espe- 
cially when  it  is  given  without  substantial  results 
and  without  hope.  Nevertheless,  some  Mennevals 


86  MODESTE  MIGNON 

exist,  and  perhaps  more  often  at  Paris  than  else- 
where, men  who  really  cherish  a  life  led  in  the 
shadow,  with  a  quiet  devotion  to  work,  wandering 
Benedictines  to  whom  society  offers  no  other  mon- 
astery. These  courageous  lambs  express  in  their 
actions,  in  their  inner  life, the  poetry  to  which  writers 
give  verbal  expression.  They  are  poets  by  nature, 
by  their  secret  meditations  and  tenderness,  as 
others  are  poets  by  expression  in  the  fields  of  litera- 
ture at  so  much  a  verse!  like  Lord  Byron,  like  all 
those  who  live,  alas! — by  their  ink,  the  Hippocrene 
water  of  to-day,  in  the  absence  of  power  itself. 

Attracted  by  the  reputation  of  Canal  is,  and  the 
fair  future  promised  by  that  pretended  political  in- 
telligence; and  advised  by  Madame  d'Espard,  who 
acted  in  this  for  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu,  a  young 
counselor  of  the  Cour  des  Comptes  was  appointed 
secretary  to  the  poet  and  was  petted  by  him  as  a 
speculator  caresses  his  first  client  The  beginning 
of  the  companionship  thus  formed  bore  a  strong  re- 
semblance to  friendship.  This  young  man  had 
already  served  in  this  capacity  to  one  of  the  minis- 
ters who  left  the  office  in  1827;  but  the  minister 
had  taken  care  to  procure  him  a  situation  in  the 
Audit  Office.  Ernest  de  la  Briere,  then  about 
twenty-seven  years  of  age,  was  decorated  with  the 
Legion  of  Honor,  but  without  fortune  except  his 
salary.  He  possessed  a  knowledge  of  business  and, 
after  having  spent  four  years  in  a  minister's  office, 
was  well  qualified  for  the  position.  Of  a  sweet, 
amiable  disposition  with  a  modest  heart  full  of  good 


MODESTE  MIGNON  87 

sentiments,  he  never  wished  to  be  in  the  fore- 
ground. He  loved  his  country  and  he  wished  to 
serve  her,  but  notoriety  embarrassed  him.  He  pre- 
ferred rather  to  be  the  secretary  to  a  Napoleon  than 
to  be  the  prime  minister. 

Ernest,  having  become  the  friend  of  Canal  is,  did 
a  great  amount  of  work  for  him,  but  in  eighteen 
months  he  recognized  the  barrenness  of  this  nature, 
poetic  only  through  its  literary  expression.  The 
truth  of  the  popular  proverb,  "it  is  not  the  cowl  that 
makes  the  friar,"  is  especially  applicable  to  litera- 
ture. It  is  extremely  rare  to  find  harmony  between 
talent  and  character :  the  faculties  are  not  the  sum- 
mary of  the  man.  This  separation  whose  phenom- 
ena cause  astonishment,  springs  from  an  unexplored, 
perhaps,  unexplorable  mystery.  The  brain  and  its 
products  of  all  kinds, — for  in  the  arts  the  hand  of 
man  follows  up  the  brain, — are  a  world  apart 
blooming  beneath  the  cranium,  in  a  perfect  indepen- 
dence of  the  sentiments,  of  that  which  is  called  the 
virtues  of  a  citizen,  of  the  father  of  a  family,  or  of 
the  private  man.  However,  this  is  not  absolute. 
Nothing  is  absolute  with  man.  It  is  certain  that 
the  dissipated  man  will  throw  away  his  talents  in 
his  orgies,  that  the  drunkard  will  waste  them  in  his 
libations,  while  the  good  man  cannot  attain  talents 
by  wholesome  living;  nevertheless,  it  is  also  almost 
proven  that  Virgil,  the  painter  of  love,  never  loved 
a  Dido,  and  that  Rousseau,  the  model  citizen,  had 
pride  enough  to  supply  a  whole  aristocracy.  Never- 
theless, Michael  Angelo  and  Raphael  have  offered 


88  MODESTE  MIGNON 

the  happy  harmony  of  genius  and  character.  Talent, 
with  men,  is  then  as  to  morals,  what  beauty  is  with 
women, — simply  a  promise.  Let  us  doubly  admire 
the  man  in  whom  we  find  heart  and  character  equal 
in  perfection  to  the  talent.  In  finding  the  poet  an 
ambitious  egoist,  the  worst  kind  of  an  egoist,  for 
there  are  some  amiable  forms  of  the  vice,  Ernest  felt 
a  kind  of  shame  at  leaving  him.  Good  souls  do  not 
easily  break  their  bonds,  especially  those  which 
they  have  themselves  voluntarily  tied.  The  secre- 
tary then  1  i  ved  happily  with  the  poet  when  Modeste's 
letter  arrived,  but  as  one  always  lives  happily  with 
anyone  by  always  sacrificing  one's  self,  La  Briere 
took  into  consideration  the  frankness  with  which 
Canal  is  had  opened  his  heart  to  him.  Besides,  the 
defects  of  this  man,  who  will  be  esteemed  great  dur- 
ing his  life,  and  who  will  be  f§ted  as  Marmontel 
was,  were  the  reverse  side  of  his  brilliant  qualities. 
Thus  without  his  vanity,  without  his  pretension, 
perhaps  he  would  not  have  been  gifted  with  that 
sonorous  diction,  a  necessary  instrument  of  the 
political  1  ife  of  to-day.  His  sharpness  bordered  upon 
rectitude,  upon  loyalty.  His  ostentation  is  lined 
with  generosity.  The  results  profit  society;  the 
motives  concern  God. 

But  when  Modeste's  letter  arrived,  Ernest  no 
longer  deceived  himself  about  Canalis.  The  two 
friends  had  just  breakfasted  and  were  talking  in  the 
study  of  the  poet,  who  occupied  then  an  apartment 
on  the  ground  floor  at  the  end  of  a  courtyard  look- 
ing out  upon  a  garden. 


CANALIS,  LA  BRIERE  AND  MODESTE'S 
LETTER 


"Oh,  Jwiv  I  should  loi>e  a  woman  to  come  to  me  !  " 
exclaimed  La  Brier c,  restraining  a  tear.  "All  I  can 
say  to  you,  my  dear  Canalis,  is,  that  it  is  never  a  poor 
girl  who  reaches  towards  a  celebrated  man  ;  she  has 
too  mucJi  mistrust,  too  much  vanity,  too  much  fear. 
It  is  always  a  star,  a — " 

"A  princess"  exclaimed  Canalis. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  89 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Canal  is,  "I  was  right  in  telling 
Madame  de  Chaul  ieu  the  other  day,  that  I  ought  to 
publish  some  new  poem.  The  admiration  for  me 
is  falling  off,  for  it  is  some  time  since  I  have  re- 
ceived any  anonymous  letters." 

"From  a  stranger?"  asked  La  Briere. 

"A  stranger!  A  D'Este  and  from  Havre!  It  is 
evidently  an  assumed  name,"  and  Canalis  handed 
the  letter  to  La  Briere.  This  poem,  this  hidden 
exaltation,  in  short,  Modeste's  heart,  was  recklessly 
spread  out  by  the  gesture  of  a  coxcomb. 

"It  is  beautiful !"  exclaimed  the  lawyer,  "thus  to 
attract  to  one's  self  the  most  chaste  sentiments,  to 
force  a  poor  woman  out  of  the  habits  which  educa- 
tion, nature  and  society  mark  out  for  her ;  to  force 
her  to  break  down  conventionalities. — What  privi- 
leges genius  acquires!  A  letter  like  this  which  I 
hold,  written  by  a  young  girl,  a  true  young  girl, 
without  mental  reservation,  with  enthusiasm, — " 

"Well  ?"  said  Canalis. 

"Well,  if  one  had  suffered  as  much  as  Tasso,  one 
should  feel  recompensed!"  exclaimed  La  Briere. 

"One  says  that  to  himself  at  the  first,  at  the 
second  letter,"  said  Canalis,  "but  when  it  is  the 
thirtieth! — Or  when  a  man  has  found  that  the 
young  enthusiast  is  not  quite  moral ;  or  when,  at 
the  end  of  the  brilliant  path  traversed  by  the  ex- 
altation of  the  poet,  a  man  sees  an  old  English- 
woman seated  upon  a  milestone,  who  holds  out  her 
hand  to  him! — or, when  an  angel  in  correspondence 
changes  into  a  poor  girl  of  mediocre  beauty,  who  is 


90  MODESTE  MIGNON 

seeking  a  husband! — Ah,  then  one's  effervescence 
ceases." 

"I  commence  to  believe,"  said  La  Briere  smil- 
ingly, "that  glory  has  something  poisonous  in  it, 
like  certain  brilliant  flowers. " 

"And  then,  my  friend,"  replied  Canalis,  "all 
these  women,  even  if  they  are  sincere,  they  have 
an  ideal,  and  you  rarely  attain  to  it.  They  do  not 
say  to  themselves  that  the  poet  is  a  man  quite  vain, 
as  I  am  taxed  with  being;  they  never  imagine  that 
he  is  a  man  dominated  by  a  sort  of  feverish  agita- 
tion which  makes  him  disagreeable,  changeable; 
they  desire  he  should  be  always  great,  always  hand- 
some; they  never  think  that  talent  is  a  disease; 
that  Nathan  lives  with  Florine;  that  D'Arthez 
is  too  fat;  that  Joseph  Bridau  is  too  thin;  that 
Beranger  limps  and  that  their  own  particular  god 
can  have  catarrh!  A  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  poet 
and  good  fellow,  is  a  phoenix.  Why  then  go  in 
search  of  miserable  compliments  and  receive  the 
cold  shower-baths  which  are  given  by  the  stupified 
looks  of  disillusioned  women?" 

"The  true  poet,"  said  La  Briere,  "should  then 
remain  hidden  like  God  in  the  centre  of  his  worlds, 
to  be  seen  only  by  his  creations."  , 

"Glory  would  then  cost  too  much,"  replied 
Canalis.  "There  are  good  things  in  life!  See!"  said 
he,  as  he  took  a  cup  of  tea,  "when  a  noble  and  beau- 
tiful woman  loves  a  poet,  she  hides  herself  neither  in 
the  upper  nor  in  the  stage-boxes  of  the  theatre,  like 
a  duchess  infatuated  with  an  actor.  She  feels 


MODESTE  MIGNON  91 

herself  strong  enough,  sufficiently  guarded  by  her 
beauty,  by  her  fortune,  by  her  name,  to  say,  as  in 
all  epic  poems:  '/  am  the  nymph  Calypso  in  love 
with  Telemachus. '  Mystery  is  the  resource  of  petty 
minds.  For  some  time  I  have  not  replied  to  these 
masked  epistles — " 

"Oh,  how  I  should  love  a  woman  to  come  to  me!" 
exclaimed  La  Briere,  restraining  a  tear.  "All  I  can 
say  to  you,  my  dear  Canal  is,  is,  that  it  is  never  a 
poor  girl  who  reaches  towards  a  celebrated  man; 
she  has  too  much  mistrust,  too  much  vanity,  too 
much  fear.  It  is  always  a  star,  a  — " 

"A  princess,"  exclaimed  Canal  is,  bursting  into 
laughter,  "is  it  not,  who  descends  to  him? — My 
dear  fellow,  that  happens  once  in  a  hundred  years. 
Such  love  is  like  the  flower  which  blooms  once  in  a 
century.  The  princesses  young,  rich  and  beautiful, 
are  too  much  occupied;  they  are  surrounded,  like 
all  rare  plants,  with  a  hedge  of  idiotic  gentlemen, 
well-educated  but  empty  as  the  elder-trees.  My 
dream,  alas!  the  crystal  of  my  dream  bordered  from 
Correze  here  with  garlands  of  flowers,  with  what 
fervor! — Ah,  let  us  not  talk  of  it  any  more!  It  has 
been  in  fragments  for  a  long  time  at  my  feet. — No, 
no,  every  anonymous  letter  is  a  beggar!  And  what 
demands!  Write  to  this  little  person,  supposing 
she  is  young  and  pretty,  and  you  will  see !  There 
is  nothing  else  to  do.  A  man  cannot  reasonably 
love  every  woman.  Apollo,  at  least  the  Apollo  of 
the  Belvedere,  is  an  elegant  consumptive,  who  ought 
to  take  care  of  himself." 


92  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"But  when  a  creature  comes  in  this  manner,  her 
excuse  should  be  the  certainty  of  eclipsing  in  ten- 
derness, in  beauty,  the  most  adored  mistress,"  said 
Ernest,  "and  then  a  little  curiosity, — " 

"Ah,"  replied  Canal  is,  "you  will  allow  me,  you 
most  youthful  Ernest,  to  adhere  to  the  lovely 
duchess  who  makes  my  happiness." 

"You  are  right,  entirely  right,"  replied  Ernest. 
Nevertheless,  the  young  secretary  read  Modeste's 
letter  and  re-read  it,  endeavoring  to  discover  its 
hidden  spirit. 

"There  is  not  an  exaggerated  phrase  in  it.  She 
does  not  ascribe  genius  to  you;  she  addresses  your 
heart,"  he  said  to  Canal  is.  "This  perfume  of  mod- 
esty and  this  proposed  contract  would  tempt  me — " 

"Write  yourself,  reply,  go  yourself  to  the  end  of 
the  adventure ;  I  wager  you  will  receive  a  poor 
salary  for  it,"  exclaimed  Canalis,  smiling.  "Go. 
You  may  tell  me  about  it  in  three  months,  if  it  last 
three  months. — " 

Four  days  later,  Modeste  received  the  following 
letter,  written  on  fine  paper,  protected  by  two  envel- 
opes and  sealed  with  the  arms  of  Canalis. 

II 

TO  MADEMOISELLE  O.    D'ESTE-M. 

"Mademoiselle, 

"The  admiration  for  beautiful  writings,  supposing 
that  mine  are  such,  admits  of  an  indescribable 


MODESTE  MIGNON  93 

something  of  sanctity  and  of  candor,  which  protects 
against  all  raillery  and  justifies  before  every  tri- 
bunal the  step  which  you  have  taken  in  writing  to 
me.  Before  all,  I  ought  to  thank  you  for  the 
pleasure  which  such  testimony  always  causes,  even 
if  not  merited;  for  the  poets  and  versifiers  deem 
themselves  entirely  worthy  of  them,  so  little  is 
self-love  a  substance  refractory  to  praise.  The  best 
proof  of  friendship  which  I  can  give  to  a  stranger,  in 
exchange  for  this  cure  which  would  heal  the  stings 
of  the  critic,  will  be  to  share  with  her  the  harvest 
of  my  experience  at  the  risk  of  causing  her  living 
illusions  to  fly  away,  will  it  not? 

"Mademoiselle,  the  most  splendid  ornament  of  a 
young  girl  is  the  flower  of  a  holy,  pure,  irreproach- 
able life.  Are  you  alone  in  the  world?  Then  all 
is  said.  But  if  you  have  a  family,  a  father  or  a 
mother,  think  of  all  the  sorrow  which  may  follow  a 
letter  like  yours,  addressed  to  a  poet  whom  you  do 
not  know  personally.  All  writers  are  not  angels; 
they  have  faults.  There  are  among  them  those  who 
are  thoughtless,  giddy,  foolish,  ambitious,  and  dis- 
sipated ;  and,  however  imposing  innocence  may  be, 
however  chivalrous  the  French  poet  may  be,  you 
might  meet  in  Paris  more  than  one  degenerate 
minstrel  ready  to  cultivate  your  affection  in  order  to 
deceive  it  Your  letter  would  then  be  interpreted 
otherwise  than  I  have  done.  A  thought  would  be 
seen  in  it  which  you  have  not  put  there  and  which 
in  your  innocence  you  do  not  suspect  There  are 
as  many  different  characters  as  there  are  authors. 


94  MODESTE  MIGNON 

I  am  exceedingly  flattered  that  you  deem  me  worthy 
of  understanding  you;  but  if  you  had  fallen  upon  a 
talented  hypocrite,  upon  a  scoffer  whose  books  are 
melancholy  and  whose  life  is  a  continual  carnival, 
you  would  have  found  at  the  close  of  your  sublime 
imprudence,  a  Dad  man,  some  frequenter  of  the 
green-room  or  a  hero  of  the  tavern.  You  do  not 
perceive  among  the  bowers  of  clematis  where  you 
meditate  upon  poetry,  the  odor  of  the  cigars  which 
make  the  manuscripts  unpoetical ;  even  as  in  going 
to  a  ball,  wearing  the  resplendent  work  of  the  jew- 
eler, you  do  not  think  of  the  vigorous  arms,  of  the 
workmen  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  of  the  humble  work- 
shops from  which  spring  forth  radiantly  these  flow- 
ers of  workmanship.  Let  us  go  still  farther!  In 
what  can  the  dreamy  and  solitary  life  which  you 
lead,  no  doubt,  on  the  seashore,  interest  a  poet 
whose  mission  is  to  divine  all,  since  he  ought  to 
paint  everything?  Our  young  girls  are  so  accom- 
plished that  none  of  Eve's  daughters  can  vie  with 
them !  What  reality  is  ever  as  good  as  the  dream  ? 
Now,  what  will  you  gain,  you  a  young  girl  educated 
to  become  the  virtuous  mother  of  a  family,  in 
initiating  yourself  into  the  terrible  agitations  of  a 
poet's  life  in  this  frightful  capital,  which  can  be 
only  defined  by  these  words:  a  Hell  which  one 
loves!  If  it  is  the  desire  to  enliven  the  monotonous 
existence  of  a  curious  young  girl  which  has  put  the 
pen  into  your  hand,  has  not  that  the  appearance  of 
depravity?  What  signification  shall  I  give  to  your  let- 
ter ?  Do  you  belong  to  a  condemned  caste,  and  do  you 


MODESTE  MIGNON  95 

seek  a  lover  far  from  you?  Are  you  mortified  at 
being  homely,  and  are  you  conscious  of  a  beautiful 
soul  without  a  confidant?  Alas!  a  sad  conclusion; 
you  have  done  too  much  or  not  enough.  Either  we 
must  stop  here,  or  if  you  continue,  tell  me  more 
than  in  the  letter  you  have  written  to  me.  But, 
mademoiselle,  if  you  are  young,  if  you  have  a 
family,  if  you  feel  in  your  heart  that  you  have 
celestial  ointment  to  pour  out,  as  did  the  Magdalene 
at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  allow  yourself  to  be  appreciated 
by  a  man  worthy  of  you,  and  become  as  every  good 
young  girl  should:  an  excellent  wife,  a  virtuous 
mother  of  a  family.  A  poet  is  the  saddest  conquest 
which  a  young  girl  can  make;  he  has  too  much 
vanity,  too  many  sharp  angles  which  must  wound 
the  legitimate  vanities  of  a  woman,  and  kill  the 
tenderness  of  an  inexperienced  life.  A  poet's  wife 
should  love  him  for  a  long  time  before  she  marries 
him ;  she  should  bring  herself  to  have  the  charity 
of  angels,  their  indulgence,  the  virtues  of  mother- 
hood. There  are  only  the  germs  of  these  qualities 
in  young  girls,  mademoiselle. 

"Listen  to  the  whole  truth,  for  do  I  not  owe  it  to 
you  in  return  for  your  intoxicating  flattery?  If  it 
be  glorious  to  marry  a  man  of  great  renown,  one 
soon  perceives  that  a  superior  man  is,  in  all  that 
makes  a  man,  like  other  men.  Thus  he  realizes  so 
much  the  less,  because  prodigies  are  expected  of 
him.  He  becomes  like  a  woman  whose  beauty  is 
overpraised  and  of  whom  we  say  on  seeing  her  for 
the  first  time:  'I  thought  her  far  more  beautiful.' 


96  MODESTE  MIGNON 

She  does  not  respond  to  the  demands  of  the  portrait 
traced  by  the  fairy  to  whom  I  owe  your  note, — the 
Imagination!  In  short,  the  qualities  of  the  mind 
only  develop  and  bloom  in  an  invisible  sphere;  the 
poet's  wife  only  sees  the  inconvenience  of  them; 
she  sees  the  jewels  made,  instead  of  adorning  her- 
self with  them.  If  the  brilliancy  of  an  exceptional 
position  has  fascinated  you,  learn  that  the  pleasures 
of  it  are  soon  consumed.  It  makes  one  irritable  to 
find  so  much  roughness  in  a  position  which  at  a 
distance  seems  smooth;  so  much  coldness  on  a  bril- 
liant summit!  Then,  as  women  never  step  into 
the  world  of  difficulties,  they  soon  cease  to  appre- 
ciate that  which  they  admired,  when  they  see,  as 
they  think,  at  the  first  sight,  the  inner  mechanism 
of  it 

"I  close  with  a  last  consideration,  in  which  you 
will  be  wrong  to  see  a  disguised  request  It  is  the 
advice  of  a  friend.  The  interchange  of  souls  can 
only  be  established  between  people  disposed  to  hide 
nothing  from  each  other.  Will  you  show  yourself 
as  you  are  to  a  stranger?  I  stop  at  the  conse- 
quences of  this  thought. 

"Receive,  mademoiselle,  the  homage  which  we 
owe  to  all  women,  even  to  those  who  are  strangers 
and  masked." 

To  have  worn  this  letter  between  her  corsets  and 
her  flesh,  over  her  palpitating  heart  throughout  an 
entire  day! — To  have  reserved  the  reading  of  it  for 
the  hour  when  all  the  world  slept, — midnight, — 


MODESTE  MIGNON  97 

after  having  waited  for  this  solemn  silence  with  the 
anxieties  of  an  imagination  on  fire! — To  have 
blessed  the  poet,  to  have  read  in  advance  a  thousand 
letters,  to  have  imagined  everything  except  this 
drop  of  cold  water,  falling  upon  the  vaporous  forms 
of  fancy,  and  dissolving  them  as  prussic  acid  does 
life! — That  was  something  from  which  to  hide  one's 
self,  although  alone,  as  did  Modeste,  with  her  face 
in  the  pillows,  to  extinguish  the  candle  and  weep. — 

This  happened  during  the  first  days  of  July. 
Modeste  arose,  walked  up  and  down  her  chamber 
and  opened  her  window.  She  wished  air.  The 
perfume  of  the  flowers  mounted  to  her  with  that 
freshness  peculiar  to  odors  during  the  night  The 
sea,  illumined  by  the  moon,  shone  like  a  mirror. 
A  nightingale  sang  in  a  tree  in  the  Vilquin  park. 

"Ah,  there  is  the  poet,"  said  Modeste  to  herself, 
as  her  anger  subsided. 

The  most  bitter  reflections  succeeded  each  other 
in  her  mind.  She  felt  herself  piqued  to  the  quick; 
she  wished  to  re-read  the  letter;  she  relighted  the 
candle;  she  studied  this  carefully  worded  prose,  and 
finished  by  hearing  the  croaking  voice  of  the  real 
world. 

"He  is  right  and  I  am  wrong,"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "But,  how  can  one  believe  that  one  will  find 
one  of  Moliere's  old  men,  under  the  starry  robe  of 
the  poet?"— 

When  a  woman  or  a  young  girl  is  taken  in  the 
deed,  she  conceives  a  profound  hatred  against  the 
witness,  the  author  or  object  of  her  fault  Thus 

7 


Q8  MODESTE  MIGNON 

the  true,  the  natural,  the  wild  Modeste,  felt  in  her 
heart  a  frightful  desire  to  get  the  mastery  over  this 
spirit  of  rectitude,  and  to  precipitate  him  into  some 
contradiction  and  so  return  him  blow  for  blow. 
This  pure  child,  whose  mind  alone  had  been  cor- 
rupted both  by  her  reading,  by  the  long  agony  of 
her  sister,  and  by  the  dangerous  meditations  of  soli- 
tude, was  surprised  by  a  ray  of  sunshine  upon  her 
face.  She  had  passed  three  hours  roaming  upon 
the  borders  of  the  immense  sea  of  doubt.  Such 
nights  are  never  forgotten.  Modeste  went  directly 
to  her  little  Chinese  table,  a  present  from  her 
father,  and  wrote  a  letter  dictated  by  the  infernal 
spirit  of  vengeance  which  boils  in  the  bottom  of  the 
hearts  of  young  persons. 


* 

III 

TO  MONSIEUR  DE  CANALIS 
"Monsieur, 

"You  are  certainly  a  great  poet,  but  you  are 
something  more  than  that.  You  are  a  good  man. 
After  having  had  so  much  loyal  frankness  with  a 
young  girl  who  stood  on  the  side  of  an  abyss,  have 
you  enough  left  to  reply  without  the  least  hypoc- 
risy, without  subterfuge,  to  the  following  question? 

"Would  you  have  written  the  letter  I  hold  in  my 
hand  in  reply  to  mine,  would  your  ideas  and  your 
language  have  been  the  same,  if  someone  had  said 
in  your  ear  that  which  may  be  true:  Mademoiselle 
O.  D'Este-M.  is  worth  six  millions  and  does  not 
wish  a  fool  for  a  master  ? 

"Admit  for  a  moment  that  this  supposition  is  true. 
Be  with  me  what  you  are  with  yourself;  do  not  fear 
anything.  I  am  older  than  my  twenty  years.  No 
frankness  would  injure  you  in  my  mind.  When  I  have 
read  your  confidence,  if  you  still  deign  to  give  it  to 
me,  you  will  then  receive  a  reply  to  your  first  letter. 

"After  having  admired  your  talent,  so  often  sub- 
lime, permit  me  to  render  homage  to  your  delicacy 
and  your  probity,  which  compel  me  to  call  myself 
always, 

"Your  humble  servant, 

"O.   D'ESTE-M." 

(99) 


100  MODESTE  MIGNON 

When  Ernest  de  la  Briere  had  this  letter  in  his 
hands,  he  went  to  walk  on  the  boulevards,  his  soul 
being  agitated  as  a  frail  craft  by  a  tempest,  when 
the  winds  blow  from  all  points  of  the  compass  at 
every  moment.  For  a  young  man  such  as  one  often 
meets,  for  a  true  Parisian,  all  would  have  been  ex- 
pressed in  this  sentence:  "She  is  a  little  vixen!" 
But  for  a  fellow  whose  soul  was  noble  and  beautiful, 
this  kind  of  oath  administered,  this  appeal  to  Truth, 
had  the  virtue  of  awakening  the  three  judges 
crouching  in  the  depths  of  all  consciences.  Honor, 
Truth  and  Justice,  standing  erect,  cried  energet- 
ically. "Ah,  dear  Ernest,"  said  Truth,  "you  would 
certainly  not  have  given  this  lesson  to  a  rich  heir- 
ess! Ah,  my  boy,  you  would  have  left  quickly  for 
Havre  to  learn  if  the  young  girl  were  beautiful,  and 
you  would  have  felt  very  unhappy  at  the  preference 
accorded  to  genius;  and  if  you  could  have  sup- 
planted your  friend,  to  have  put  yourself  in  his 
place,  Mademoiselle  D'Este  would  have  been  a 
divinity!" — "How,"  said  Justice,  "you  find  fault, 
you  penniless  people  of  mind,  at  seeing  rich  girls 
married  to  beings  whom  you  would  not  make  your 
porters !  You  rail  against  the  practical  character  of 
the  century,  which  is  eager  to  unite  money  with 
money,  and  never  some  fine  young  man  full  of 
talent,  without  fortune,  to  some  beautiful  young 
girl  noble  and  rich.  Here  is  a  girl  who  revolts 
against  the  spirit  of  the  age!  And  the  poet  replies 
to  her  with  an  unfeeling  blow  upon  her  heart!" — 
"Rich  or  poor,  young  or  old,  beautiful  or  homely, 


MODESTE  MIGNON  IOI 

this  young  girl  is  right.  She  has  intelligence,  she 
rolls  the  poet  in  the  mire  of  personal  interest,"  ex- 
claimed Honor;  "she  deserves  a  sincere,  noble  and 
frank  reply,  and  above  all,  the  expression  of  your 
thoughts!  Examine  yourself!  Sound  your  heart 
and  purge  it  of  its  cowardices.  What  would 
Moliere's  Alceste  say?"  And  La  Briere,  having 
set  out  from  the  Boulevard  Poissoniere,  walked  so 
slowly,  lost  in  thought,  that  it  was  almost  an  hour 
later  when  he  reached  the  Boulevard  des  Capu- 
cines.  He  went  by  the  quay  to  reach  the  Court  of 
Audits,  then  situated  near  the  Sainte-Chapelle. 
But  instead  of  verifying  accounts,  he  remained 
under  the  influence  of  his  perplexities. 

"She  has  not  six  millions.  That  is  evident," 
he  said  to  himself.  "But  that  is  not  the  ques- 
tion.—" 

Six  days  later,  Modeste  received  the  following 
letter  :— 


IV 
TO  MADEMOISELLE  O.    D'ESTE-M. 

"Mademoiselle, 

"You  are  not  a  D'Este.  This  name  is  only  a 
nom-de-plume  to  hide  your  own.  Does  a  man  owe 
the  revelations  which  you  solicit,  to  one  who  de- 
ceives about  herself?  Listen.  I  will  reply  to  your 
request  by  another.  Are  you  of  an  illustrious  fam- 
ily? Of  a  noble  family?  Of  a  family  belonging 


102  MODESTE  MIGNON 

to  the  middle-class?  Certainly  the  moral  status 
does  not  change.  It  is  one  and  the  same,  but  its 
obligations  vary  according  to  the  social  sphere. 
Even  as  the  sun  illuminates  situations  in  varied 
ways,  producing  there  the  differences  which  we 
admire,  it  conforms  social  duty  to  rank  and  posi- 
tion. The  peccadillo  of  the  soldier  is  a  crime  with 
the  general,  and  vice-versa.  The  observances  are 
not  the  same  for  a  peasant  girl  who  reaps ;  for  a 
working  girl  at  fifteen  sous  a  day;  for  the  daughter 
of  a  small  retail  dealer;  for  a  girl  of  the  middle- 
class;  for  the  child  of  a  rich  commercial  house;  for 
the  young  heiress  of  a  noble  family;  for  a  daughter 
of  the  house  of  D'Este.  A  king  should  not  stoop  to 
pick  up  a  piece  of  gold,  but  the  laborer  ought  to  re- 
trace his  steps  to  find  six  sous  which  he  has  lost, 
although  both  should  obey  the  laws  of  economy.  A 
D'Este  with  six  millions,  may  put  on  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat  with  plumes, brandish  her  whip;  mount 
her  Barbary  steed  and  come  in  her  riding  habit  em- 
broidered with  gold,  followed  by  lackeys,  to  a  poet, 
saying:  "I  love  poetry  and  I  desire  to  expiate  the 
wrongs  of  Leonora  towards  Tasso!" — while  the 
young  daughter  of  a  merchant  would  cover  herself 
with  ridicule  in  imitating  her.  To  what  social 
class  do  you  belong?  Reply  sincerely  and  I  will 
reply  in  the  same  manner  to  the  questions  which 
you  have  asked. 

"Not  having  the  good  fortune  of  knowing  you, 
and  being  already  bound  by  a  sort  of  poetical  com- 
munion, 1  do  not  wish  to  offer  you  common  homage. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  103 

Perhaps  it  is  already  a  triumphant  malice  to  have 
embarrassed  a  man  who  publishes  his  books." 

The  lawyer  was  not  wanting  in  that  cleverness 
in  which  a  man  of  honor  may  indulge  himself.  By 
return  mail,  he  received  the  reply. 


TO  MONSIEUR  DE  CANALIS 

"You  are  more  and  more  reasonable,  my  dear 
poet.  My  father  is  a  count.  Our  principal  ances- 
tor was  a  cardinal  of  that  period  when  cardinals 
were  almost  the  equals  of  kings.  To-day  our 
house,  half-fallen,  ends  with  me;  but  I  possess  the 
necessary  qualities  to  enter  into  every  court  and 
into  every  chapter-house  in  Europe.  We  are  as 
good  as  the  Canalises.  Deem  yourself  fortunate  that 
1  do  not  send  you  our  coat-of-arms.  Try  to  reply  as 
sincerely  as  I  have  done.  I  await  your  reply  to 
learn  if  I  may  still  call  myself,  as  now, 
"Your  servant, 

"O.   D'ESTE-M." 

"How  she  abuses  her  advantages,  this  little  crea- 
ture!" exclaimed  De  la  Briere.  "But  is  she 
frank?" 

No  man  can  be  for  four  years  the  private  secre- 
tary of  a  minister,  and  live  in  Paris,  without  ob- 
serving these  intrigues  with  impunity,  and  the 


104  MODESTE  MIGNON 

purest  soul  is  more  or  less  intoxicated  by  the  ex- 
hilarating atmosphere  of  this  imperial  city.  Happy 
at  not  being  Canal  is,  the  young  lawyer  secured  a 
place  in  the  mail-coach  for  Havre,  after  having 
written  a  letter  in  which  he  deferred  his  reply  upon 
the  ground  of  the  importance  of  the  confession  de- 
manded, and  upon  the  pressure  of  work.  He  took 
the  precaution  to  have  given  to  him  by  the  director- 
general  of  the  mails,  a  word  to  the  director  at  Havre, 
which  asked  for  silence  and  co-operation.  Ernest 
could  in  this  way  see  Francoise  Cochet  come  to  the 
post  office  and  follow  her  without  difficulty.  Guided 
by  her,  he  reached  the  heights  of  Ingouville,  and  at 
the  window  of  the  Chalet,  he  saw  Modeste. 

"Well,  Francoise?"  asked  the  young  girl,  to 
which  the  servant  replied:  "Yes,  mademoiselle,  I 
have  one." 

Struck  by  the  beauty  of  this  heavenly  blond, 
Ernest  retraced  his  steps  and  inquired  from  a 
passer-by  the  name  of  the  owner  of  this  magnificent 
dwelling. 

"That one?"  asked  the  passer-by,  pointing  to  the 
estate. 

"Yes,  my  friend." 

"Oh!  that  belongs  to  Monsieur  Vilquin,  one  of 
the  richest  ship-owners  of  Havre,  a  man  who  does 
not  know  his  own  fortune." 

"I  do  not  recall  a  Cardinal  Vilquin  in  history," 
said  the  lawyer  to  himself,  as  he  walked  towards 
Havre  to  return  to  Paris. 

Naturally  he  questioned  the  director  of  the  post 


MODESTE  MIGNON  105 

office  about  the  Vilquin  family.  He  learned  that 
they  possessed  an  immense  fortune,  that  Monsieur 
Vilquin  had  a  son  and  two  daughters,  one  of  whom 
had  married  the  son  of  Althor.  Prudence  prevented 
La  Briere  from  seeming  to  have  any  design  upon 
the  Vilquins.  As  it  was,  the  director  looked  at  him 
slyly. 

"Is  there  anyone  with  them  at  this  time,  besides 
the  family?"  he  asked  further. 

"Atthis  moment,  the  Herouville  family  are  there. 
There  is  a  talk  of  the  marriage  of  the  young  duke 
with  the  younger  Mademoiselle  Vilquin." 

"There  was  the  famous  Cardinal  d'Herouville 
under  the  Valois,"  La  Briere  said  to  himself,  "and 
under  Henry  IV.  the  terrible  marshal,  who  was 
created  a  duke." 

Ernest  left,  having  seen  enough  of  Modeste  to 
dream  of  her,  to  think  that  rich  or  poor,  if  she  had 
a  beautiful  soul,  he  would  make  her  Madame  de  la 
Briere  willingly  enough,  and  he  resolved  to  con- 
tinue the  correspondence. 

Try  then  to  remain  unknown,  poor  women  of 
France;  to  carry  on  the  smallest  little  romance  in 
the  midst  of  a  civilization  which  notes  upon  the 
public  squares  the  hour  of  the  departure  and  arrival 
of  the  trains,  which  counts  the  letters,  which 
stamps  them  doubly  with  the  precise  moment  when 
they  are  thrown  into  the  boxes  and  when  they  are 
distributed;  which  numbers  the  houses;  which  reg- 
isters upon  the  tax-rolls  the  different  stories,  after 
having  taken  account  of  the  doors  and  windows; 


106  MODESTE  MIGNON 

which  will  soon  possess  all  its  territory  represented 
in  its  smallest  holdings,  with  their  most  minute 
details,  upon  the  vast  sheets  of  the  land  survey, 
work  of  a  giant  ordained  by  a  giant!  Try  then, 
imprudent  girls,  to  shelter  yourselves  not  from 
the  eye  of  the  police,  but  from  this  incessant  prat- 
tling, which,  in  the  meanest  village,  scrutinizes  the 
most  unimportant  actions,  counts  the  dishes  of  the 
dessert  at  the  house  of  the  prefect,  and  notices 
the  melon  rinds  at  the  door  of  the  poor  man;  which 
endeavors  to  hear  the  money  when  the  hand  of 
economy  adds  it  to  the  treasury,  and  which  every 
evening  at  the  hearthstone  corner,  estimates  the 
amount  of  the  fortunes  in  the  canton,  in  the  town, 
in  the  department !  Modeste  had  escaped  by  a  com- 
mon instance  of  mistaken  identity  from  the  most 
innocent  espionage  for  which  Ernest  already  re- 
proached himself.  But  what  Parisian  would  allow 
himself  to  be  the  dupe  of  a  little  country  girl  ?  To 
be  the  dupe  of  nothing;  that  horrid  maxim  dissolves 
all  the  noblest  sentiments  of  man. 

One  can  easily  imagine  to  what  a  struggle  of  sen- 
timents this  good  young  man  was  a  prey,  by  the 
letter  which  he  wrote  and  in  which  each  blow  of  the 
scourge  received  by  his  conscience,  left  its  trace. 

Behold,  then,  that  which  some  days  later, 
Modeste  read  at  her  window  on  a  beautiful  summer 
day. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  107 

VI 

TO  MADEMOISELLE  O.    D'ESTE-M. 

"Mademoiselle, 

"Yes,  without  any  hypocrisy,  if  I  had  been 
certain  that  you  had  an  immense  fortune,  I  should 
have  acted  entirely  different  Why?  I  have 
sought  the  reason.  Here  it  is.  There  is  in  us  an 
innate  sentiment,  developed  beyond  measure  by 
society,  which  pushes  us  to  the  pursuit,  to  the  pos- 
session of  happiness.  The  greater  part  of  men  con- 
found happiness  with  its  means,  and  fortune  in 
their  eyes  is  the  largest  element  of  happiness.  I 
should  then  have  tried  to  please  you,  influenced  by 
the  social  sentiment  which  at  all  times  has  made 
wealth  a  religion.  At  least,  I  believe  so.  One 
ought  not  to  expect  in  a  man,  still  young,  that  wis- 
dom which  substitutes  good  sense  for  the  pleasure 
of  the  senses,  and  in  sight  of  the  prey  the  animal 
instinct,  hidden  in  man's  heart,  pushes  him  on. 
Instead  of  a  lesson,  you  would  then  have  received 
compliments  and  flatteries  from  me.  Should  I  have 
esteemed  myself?  I  doubt  it.  Mademoiselle,  in 
this  case  success  brings  absolution,  but  happiness, 
— that  is  another  thing.  Should  I  have  mistrusted 
my  wife,  if  I  had  won  her  thus?  Most  assuredly. 
Your  proceeding  would  sooner  or  later  have  resumed 
its  character.  Your  husband,  however  great  you 
might  have  made  him,  would  have  finished  by  re- 
proaching you  for  having  dishonored  him,  and  you 


108  MODESTE  MIGNON 

yourself  would,  perhaps,  sooner  or  later  come  to 
despise  him.  The  ordinary  man  cuts  the  Gordian 
knot  which  constitutes  a  marriage  for  money  with 
the  sword  of  tyranny.  The  strong  man  pardons. 
The  poet  laments.  Such,  mademoiselle,  is  the 
reply  which  my  honesty  compels  me  to  make. 

"Now  listen  a  little.  You  have  had  the  triumph 
of  causing  me  to  reflect  deeply,  both  upon  you 
whom  I  do  not  know  enough,  and  upon  myself 
whom  I  know  slightly.  You  have  had  the  ability 
to  stir  well  the  bad  thoughts  which  lie  stagnant  at 
the  bottom  of  all  hearts.  But  from  these,  some- 
thing generous  has  gone  out  of  me,  and  I  salute  you 
with  my  most  gracious  blessings  as  one  salutes  on 
the  ocean  a  lighthouse  which  has  shown  us  the 
rock  upon  which  we  might  perish.  This  is  my 
confession,  for  I  would  lose  neither  your  esteem  nor 
my  own,  at  the  price  of  all  the  treasures  on  earth. 

"I  wished  to  know  who  you  were.  I  returned  to 
Havre,  where  1  saw  Francoise  Cochet  I  followed 
her  to  Ingouville  and  I  saw  you  in  the  midst  of  your 
magnificent  villa.  You  are  as  beautiful  as  a  woman 
of  a  poet's  dreams ;  but  I  do  not  know  whether  you 
are  Mademoiselle  Vilquin  disguised  as  Mademoiselle 
d'Herouville,  or  Mademoiselle  d'Herouville  dis- 
guised as  Mademoiselle  Vilquin. 

"Although  all  is  fair  in  war,  this  espionage  made 
me  blush  and  I  stopped  in  my  quest.  You  have 
aroused  my  curiosity.  Do  not  be  angry  with  me 
for  having  been  a  little  like  a  woman.  Is  it  not  the 
poet's  right?  Now  I  have  opened  my  heart  to  you. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  IOg 

I  have  allowed  you  to  read  it,  and  you  may  believe 
in  the  sincerity  of  that  which  I  am  going  to  add. 
Although  the  glance  which  I  cast  at  you  was  rapid, 
it  has  sufficed  to  modify  my  judgment  You  are  at 
one  and  the  same  time,  poetry  and  a  poet,  before 
being  a  woman.  You  possess  something  more 
precious  than  beauty.  You  are  the  beau  ideal  of 
art,  of  fancy. —  The  proceeding,  which  is  censur- 
able in  young  girls  dedicated  to  an  ordinary  destiny, 
changes  for  those  who  are  endowed  with  the  char- 
acter which  I  ascribe  to  you.  There  are  exceptions 
among  the  large  number  thrown  by  the  chance  of 
social  life  upon  the  earth,  to  make  up  a  generation. 
If  your  letter  is  the  termination  of  long  poetical 
reveries  upon  the  fate  which  the  social  law  reserves 
for  women;  if  you  have  desired,  misled  by  the  in- 
clination of  a  superior  and  educated  mind,  to  learn 
the  intimate  life  of  a  man  to  whom  you  accord  the 
chance  of  genius ; — in  short,  to  create  for  yourself  a 
friendship  secure  from  the  ordinary  relations,  with 
a  soul  like  your  own,  in  escaping  from  all  the  con- 
ditions of  your  sex;  surely  you  are  an  exception! 
The  law  which  serves  to  measure  the  actions  of  the 
masses  is  then  too  narrow  to  measure  your  resolu- 
tion. But  the  phrase  in  my  first  letter  returns  then 
in  all  its  force: — you  have  done  too  much,  or  not 
enough.  Accept  then,  my  renewed  thanks  for  the 
service  which  you  have  rendered  me  by  obliging  me 
to  fathom  my  heart  You  have  rectified  in  me  this 
error,  common  enough  in  France,  that  marriage  is  a 
means  to  fortune.  From  the  depth  of  my  troubled 


1 10  MODESTE  MIGNON 

conscience,  a  holy  voice  has  spoken  to  me.  I  have 
solemnly  sworn  to  myself  to  make  my  own  fortune 
and  not  to  be  influenced  in  my  choice  of  a  com- 
panion for  life  by  motives  of  cupidity.  Then  I  have 
condemned,  I  have  repressed  the  unbecoming  curi- 
osity which  you  have  excited  in  me.  You  have  not 
six  millions.  It  would  be  impossible,  at  Havre,  for 
a  young  person  possessed  of  such  a  fortune  to  re- 
main unknown.  You  would  have  been  sought  out 
by  that  pack  of  families  of  the  peerage  which  I  see 
in  Paris  hunting  heiresses  among  the  great  families, 
and  who  would  have  sent  an  ambassador  to  your 
Vilquins.  Thus,  the  sentiments  that  I  have  ex- 
pressed to  you  have  become  as  fixed  as  an  absolute 
rule,  robbed  of  all  the  influence  of  romance.  Prove 
to  me  now  that  you  have  one  of  those  souls  which 
can  forgive  the  disobedience  to  common  law  and 
your  spirit  will  comprehend  this  second  letter  as 
you  did  my  first  If  you  be  destined  to  the  life  of 
the  middle  class,  obey  that  iron  law  which  society 
upholds.  As  a  superior  woman  I  admire  you;  but 
if  you  are  tempted  to  obey  an  instinct  which  you 
ought  to  repress,  I  pity  you ;  thus  the  social  state 
decrees.  The  wonderful  moral  of  that  great  domes- 
tic epic  Clarissa  Harlowe  is  that  the  legitimate  and 
honest  love  of  the  victim  leads  her  to  her  ruin,  be- 
cause it  is  conceived,  developed  and  pursued  in 
spite  of  the  family.  The  family,  silly  and  cruel 
though  it  may  be,  is  right  in  its  stand  against 
Lovelace.  The  family  is  Society.  Believe  me,  the 
glory  of  a  girl  as  well  as  a  woman  will  always  be 


MODESTE  MIGNON  HI 

in  suppressing  her  ardent  caprices  within  the  limits 
of  conventionalities.  If  I  had  a  daughter  who  gave 
promise  of  becoming  a  Madame  de  Stael,  I  would 
rather  see  her  dead  at  fifteen.  Can  you  imagine  a 
daughter  of  yours  exhibiting  herself  upon  the  lad- 
der of  fame  or  flaunting  herself  for  the  plaudits  of 
the  multitude  without  experiencing  a  thousand 
poignant  regrets?  No  matter  how  lofty  a  woman's 
imagination  may  rise  through  the  secret  poetry  of 
her  dreams,  she  should  sacrifice  this  upon  the  sacred 
altar  of  home.  All  the  ambition,  the  genius,  the 
aspirations  of  a  young  girl  toward  the  good  and  the 
sublime  belong  to  the  man  whom  she  accepts,  the 
children  she  bears.  I  see  that  you  would  secretly 
wish  to  enlarge  the  narrow  circle  to  which  every 
woman's  life  is  limited  and  to  put  passion  and  love 
in  marriage.  Ah !  it  is  a  beautiful  dream,  it  is  not 
impossible,  it  is  difficult  but  it  might  be  realized 
by  the  despair  of  souls — forgive  me  this  expression, 
which  has  become  ridiculous  and  out  of  place. 

"If  it  be  platonic  friendship  you  seek,  it  will 
bring  you  trouble  in  the  future.  If  your  letter  were 
a  jest,  discontinue  it,  I  beseech  you.  Is  then,  this 
little  romance  finished?  If  so,  it  will  not  be  with- 
out fruit  My  honor  is  aroused  and  you  will  have 
acquired  a  more  exact  view  of  social  life.  Turn 
your  attention  towards  actual  life  and  put  the  tran- 
sient enthusiasms  which  you  gather  from  literature 
into  the  virtues  of  your  sex. 

"Adieu,  mademoiselle.  Accord  me  the  honor  of 
your  esteem.  After  having  seen  you,  or  she  whom 


112  MODESTE  MIGNON 

I  believe  to  be  you,  I  have  thought  your  letter  very 
natural, — so  beautiful  a  flower  must  turn  toward  the 
sun  of  poetry.  Love,  then,  poetry  as  you  must 
love  flowers,  music,  the  grandeur  of  the  ocean,  the 
beauties  of  nature — as  an  ornament  of  the  soul ;  but 
remember  all  that  I  have  had  the  honor  to  say  to 
you  about  poets.  Take  care  not  to  marry  a  fool ; 
seek  carefully  the  companion  whom  God  has  created 
for  you.  Believe  me,  there  exist  many  minds  ca- 
pable of  appreciating  you,  of  rendering  you  happy. 
If  I  were  rich,  and  you  were  poor,  I  would  some  day 
place  my  fortune  and  my  heart  at  your  feet,  for  I 
believe  that  you  possess  a  soul  full  of  beauty  and 
loyalty  and  I  would  confide  my  life  and  my  honor 
to  you  with  perfect  security.  Once  more,  adieu, 
fair  daughter  of  Eve  the  fair." 

The  reading  of  this  letter,  swallowed  as  a  drop  of 
water  in  the  desert,  lifted  the  mountain  which 
weighed  upon  Modeste's  heart;  for  she  saw  the  mis- 
take she  had  made  in  arranging  her  plan  and  she 
repaired  it  at  once  by  giving  Francoise  some  envel- 
opes, on  which  she  had  written  her  own  address  at 
Ingouville  and  advising  her  to  be  seen  no  more  at 
the  Chalet.  Francoise  went  home  and  put  each 
letter  from  Paris  into  one  of  these  envelopes  and  put 
it  secretly  into  the  mail  at  Havre.  Modeste  deter- 
mined to  be  on  the  threshold  of  the  Chalet  at  the 
hour  when  the  postman  passed  to  receive  the  letter 
herself. 

This  reply  to  her  letter,  in  which  the  noble  heart 


MODESTE  MIGNON  113 

of  poor  La  Briere,  beating  as  it  did  under  the  bril- 
liant disguise  of  Canalis,  excited  in  Modeste  feel- 
ings as  varied  as  the  waves  which  come  to  die  one 
after  the  other  on  the  shore,  while  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ocean,  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  hap- 
piness of  having  attracted  an  angelic  soul  in  the 
Parisian  sea;  of  having  discovered  that  with  men 
of  genius  the  heart  is,  sometimes,  in  harmony  with 
their  talent,  and  for  having  been  led  aright  by  the 
magic  voice  of  intuition.  A  powerful  new  interest 
animated  her  life.  The  confines  of  her  pretty 
dwelling-place,  the  bars  of  her  cage  were  broken 
and  her  thoughts  soared  forth  on  outspread  wings. 

"Oh!  my  father,"  she  said  looking  toward  the 
horizon,  "come  back  and  bring  us  great  riches." 

The  response  which  Ernest  de  la  Briere  read  five 
days  later,  will  tell  the  reader  her  feelings  better 
than  any  kind  of  commentary. 


VII 
TO  MONSIEUR  DE  CANALIS 

"My  friend,  allow  me  to  give  you  this  name,  you 
have  delighted  me.  I  would  not  have  you  different 
from  what  you  are  in  this  letter,  the  first — oh!  may 
it  not  be  the  last!  Who  save  a  poet  could  have 
understood  and  excused  a  young  girl  so  graciously? 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you  with  the  same  sincerity 
which  you  have  used  in  the  first  lines  of  your  letter. 
And  first,  I  must  say,  that  most  fortunately,  you 
do  not  know  me.  I  can  tell  you  with  joy,  I  am 
neither  that  hideous  Mademoiselle  Vilquin,  nor  the 
most  noble  and  wrinkled  Mademoiselle  d'Herouville 
whose  age  vibrates  between  thirty  and  fifty,  as  she 
cannot  decide  on  an  exact  figure.  The  Cardinal 
d'Herouville  flourished  in  the  history  of  the  church 
before  our  cardinal  who  was  our  only  great  family 
pride,  for  I  do  not  count  as  remarkable  the  lieuten- 
ant-generals and  the  abbes  who  are  celebrated  for 
their  little  volumes  and  grand  verses. 

"Then,  I  do  not  live  in  the  splendid  Vilquin  villa 
and  I  have  not,  thank  Heaven,  a  ten-millionth  part 
of  a  drop  of  that  cold,  counting-house  blood  in  my 
veins.  I  come  on  one  side  from  Germany  and  on 
the  other  from  the  south  of  France.  I  have  the 
Teutonic  revery  in  my  mind  and  the  vivacity  of 


116  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Provence  in  my  blood.  I  am  noble  on  both  sides  of 
my  house.  Through  my  mother,  I  am  associated 
with  every  page  of  the  Almanach  de  Gotha.  You 
will  see  that  my  precautions  are  well  taken;  it  is 
neither  in  the  power  of  man  nor  law  to  unmask  my 
incognito.  I  will  remain  veiled,  unknown.  As  to 
my  appearance  and  mespropres,  as  the  Normans  say, 
reassure  yourself.  I  am  at  least  as  beautiful  as  the 
young  person — happy  without  knowing  it — upon 
whom  your  eyes  have  rested,  and  I  am  not  so  poor 
either,  although  I  do  not  have  ten  sons  of  the  peers 
of  France  to  accompany  me  on  my  walks!  I  have 
already  seen  the  degrading  comedy  of  the  heiress 
adored  for  her  millions,  played  for  me.  So  do  not 
attempt  in  any  way,  even  for  a  wager,  to  seek  me 
out.  Alas!  although  free,  I  am  watched,  by  myself 
first  of  all,  and  by  people  of  courage  who  would  not 
hesitate  to  put  a  knife  in  your  heart,  if  you  try  to 
penetrate  my  retreat.  I  do  not  say  this  to  excite 
your  courage  or  your  curiosity,  I  do  not  believe  I 
have  need  of  such  measures  to  attract  or  interest  you. 

"I  now  reply  to  the  second  edition,  considerably 
enlarged,  of  your  first  sermon. 

"Will  you  hear  a  confession  ?  Seeing  you  so  dis- 
trustful, and  believing  me  to  be  a  Corinne — whose 
improvised  verses  always  bored  me — I  said  to  my- 
self that  probably  many  Muses  had  already  led  you 
on,  through  your  curiosity,  into  their  valleys  and 
you  had  been  disposed  to  taste  the  fruits  of  their 
boarding-school  inspiration — Oh!  be  assured  of 
your  safety  with  me,  my  friend.  I  love  poetry,  but 


MODESTE  MIGNON  117 

I  have  no  little  verses  hidden  in  my  pocket-book  and 
my  stockings  are,  and  will  always  be,  perfectly 
white.  You  will  not  be  annoyed  by  trifles  in  one 
or  two  volumes.  Indeed,  if  I  ever  say  to  you, 
'Come,'  you  will  not  find — you  know  it  now — a  poor, 
homely  old  maid. — O  my  friend,  if  you  knew  how 
much  I  regret  your  visit  to  Havre !  You  have  by 
this  means  modified  what  you  call  my  romance. 
No,  God  alone  in  His  power  can  estimate  the  treasure 
which  I  was  reserving  for  the  man  noble  enough, 
trustful  enough,  clear-sighted  enough  to  come 
through  faith  in  my  letters,  having  penetrated, 
step  by  step,  into  the  recesses  of  my  heart,  to  meet 
me  at  our  first  rendezvous  with  the  simplicity  of  a 
child!  I  can  imagine  this  innocence  in  a  man  of 
genius.  You  have  spoiled  my  treasure,  but  I  forgive 
you.  You  live  in  Paris;  and  as  you  say,  there  is 
the  man  in  the  poet  Now  you  will  take  me  for  a 
little  girl  who  cultivates  a  garden  of  illusions.  Do 
not  amuse  yourself  throwing  stones  at  the  broken 
windows  of  a  chateau  long  since  in  ruins.  How  is 
it  that  you — man  of  mind  as  you  are — have  not 
guessed  that  when  Mademoiselle  d'Este  read  your 
first  pedantic  letter  she  said  to  herself:  'No,  dear 
poet,  my  first  letter  was  not  the  stone  thrown  by  a 
child,  strolling  along  the  roads,  who  amuses  herself 
by  frightening  by  her  random  shots  the  owner,  while 
reading  his  tax  list  under  the  shelter  of  his  fruit 
trees;  but  rather  a  line  thrown  out  by  a  fisherman 
from  a  high  rock  on  the  seashore,  hoping  to  land 
a  wonderful  fish. ' 


Il8  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"All  that  you  say  so  beautifully  of  the  family  has 
my  approval.  The  man  who  will  please  me  and  of 
whom  I  believe  myself  worthy,  will  possess  both  my 
heart  and  my  life  with  the  consent  of  my  parents; 
for  I  will  neither  bring  them  sorrow  nor  surprise 
them;  besides,  they  are  without  prejudice  and  I 
have  the  certainty  of  controlling  their  opinions.  And 
so  you  see  I  feel  strong  against  the  illusions  of  my 
fancy.  I  have  built  my  fortress  with  my  own 
hands  and  I  have  allowed  it  to  be  fortified  by  the 
boundless  devotion  of  those  who  watch  over  me  as  a 
treasure,  not  that  I  am  not  capable  of  defending  my- 
self, for  fate  has  clothed  me  with  a  well-tried  armor 
upon  which  is  engraved  the  word  DISDAIN.  I  have 
the  deepest  horror  of  all  that  is  calculating,  of  what 
is  not  entirely  pure,  noble  and  disinterested.  I  wor- 
ship the  beautiful,  the  ideal,  without  being  roman- 
tic, but  I  have  been  romantic  too  for  myself  alone,  in 
my  dreams.  Also,  I  have  recognized  the  truth  of  all 
you  say — even  to  the  verge  of  brutality — which  you 
have  written  to  me  on  the  social  side  of  life. 

"For  the  time  being,  we  are  and  we  can  only  be, 
two  friends.  Why  seek  a  friend  in  a  stranger  ?  you 
will  say.  Your  person  is  unknown  to  me,  but  your 
mind,  your  heart,  I  know,  and  they  please  me.  I 
feel  an  infinite  longing  for  the  unique  confidence  of 
a  man  of  genius.  I  do  not  wish  the  poem  of  my 
heart  wasted,  it  will  shine  for  you  as  it  might  have 
shone  for  God  alone.  What  can  be  more  precious 
than  a  good  comrade  to  whom  one  can  tell  all !  How 
can  you  refuse  the  unpublished  flowers  of  a  young 


MODESTE  MIGNON  119 

girl's  mind  which  fly  toward  you  as  naturally  as 
beautiful  insects  fly  toward  the  rays  of  the  sun  ?  I 
am  sure  that  you  have  never  encountered  that  good 
fortune  of  the  mind:  the  confidences  of  a  young 
girl !  Listen  to  her  prattle,  accept  the  music  which 
until  now  she  has  sung  only  for  herself.  Later  if 
ours  are  sister  souls,  if  our  characters  warrant  it, 
some  day  an  old  servant  with  white  hair,  will  await 
you  on  the  wayside  to  conduct  you  to  a  chalet,  a 
villa,  a  castle,  a  palace,  I  do  not  know  yet  what  the 
yellow  and  brown  flag  of  Hymen  will  be — the  colors 
of  Austria  so  powerful  by  marriage — nor  if  the 
denouement  will  be  possible;  but  acknowledge  that 
it  is  poetic  and  that  Mademoiselle  d'Este  is  easily 
satisfied.  Has  she  not  left  you  your  liberty?  does 
she  come  on  jealous  feet  to  watch  you  in  the  salons 
of  Paris  ?  Has  she  imposed  upon  you  the  duties  of 
an  adventure,  chains  which  paladins  took  upon 
themselves  voluntarily  in  the  olden  times?  No, 
she  only  demands  a  wholly  mysterious  and  spiritual 
alliance.  Come  to  my  heart,  then,  when  you  are 
unhappy,  wounded  or  weary.  Tell  me  all,  conceal 
nothing  from  me  and  I  will  have  an  elixir  for  all 
your  griefs.  I  am  only  twenty,  my  friend,  but  I 
have  the  knowledge  of  one  of  fifty  years,  and  I  have 
unfortunately  known  through  my  other  self  all  the 
horrors  and  delights  of  love.  I  know  that  the 
human  heart  may  contain  cowardice,  infamy,  never- 
theless, I  am  the  purest  of  young  girls.  No,  I  have 
no  more  illusions,  but  I  have  what  is  better, — faith 
and  religion.  See,  I  begin  our  confidences. 


120  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Whoever  my  husband  may  be,  that  is,  if  I 
choose  him,  he  will  be  able  to  sleep  tranquilly  or  go 
to  the  East  Indies  and  when  he  returns  he  will  find 
me  finishing  the  piece  of  tapestry  begun  at  his  de- 
parture, without  meantime  having  had  the  eyes  of 
man  look  into  mine  or  the  voice  of  man  disturb  my 
ear;  and,  in  each  stitch  of  my  work,  he  will  recog- 
nize a  stanza  of  the  poem  of  which  he  is  the  hero. 
Even  should  I  be  deceived  by  some  beautiful  though 
false  personality,  that  man  shall  have  all  the  flow- 
ers of  my  thoughts,  all  the  delights  of  my  tender- 
ness, the  remote  sacrifice  of  a  resignation,  proud 
rather  than  humble.  Yes,  I  do  not  intend  to  follow 
my  husband  in  the  world  when  he  does  not  wish  it; 
I  would  be  the  divinity  of  his  hearth.  That  would 
be  my  religion.  But  why  should  I  not  test  and 
choose  the  man  to  whom  I  shall  be  as  life  to  the 
body?  Is  man  ever  tired  of  life?  How  can  a 
woman  thwart  one  whom  she  loves?  That  would 
be  sickness  rather  than  life.  By  life,  I  mean  that 
beautiful  health  which  makes  a  pleasure  of  each 
hour. 

"But  to  return  to  your  letter,  which  will  ever  be 
precious  to  me.  Yes,  jesting  aside,  it  contains 
what  I  desire,  an  expression  of  prosaic  sentiments 
as  necessary  to  the  family  as  air  to  the  lungs,  and 
without  which  happiness  is  not  possible.  To  act  as 
an  honest  man,  to  think  as  a  poet,  to  love  as  a 
woman ;  that  is  what  I  would  wish  for  in  a  friend, 
and  now  it  is  no  longer  a  chimera. 

"Adieu,  my  friend.     Just  now  I  am  poor;  that  is 


MODESTE  MIGNON  121 

one  of  the  reasons  why  I  cling  to  my  mask,  my  in- 
cognito, my  impregnable  fortress.  I  read  your  last 
verses  in  the  Revue  and  with  what  delight  after 
being  initiated  into  the  austere  and  secret  grandeur 
of  your  soul. 

"Will  it  make  you  unhappy  to  know  that  a  young 
girl  prays  God  fervently  for  you,  that  she  makes  of 
you  her  one  thought,  and  that  you  have  no  rivals 
unless  it  be  her  father  and  her  mother?  Can  there 
be  any  reason  to  reject  these  pages  full  of  you, 
written  for  you,  which  will  be  read  by  no  one  else  ? 
Send  me  the  same.  I  am  still  so  little  a  woman 
that  your  confidences,  provided  that  they  are  full 
and  true,  will  suffice  to  make  up  the  happiness  of 

"Your 

"O.   D'ESTE-M." 

"Good  Heavens!  Am  I  then  in  love  already?" 
cried  the  young  secretary,  when  he  found  that  he 
had  sat  for  an  hour  with  this  letter  in  his  hand  after 
reading  it  "What  ought  I  to  do?  She  believes 
that  she  is  writing  our  great  poet!  ought  I  to  con- 
tinue this  deception  ?  Is  she  a  woman  of  forty  or 
a  girl  of  twenty?" 

Ernest  was  fascinated  by  the  gulf  of  the  unknown. 
The  unknown  is  infinity  of  obscurity  and  nothing  is 
more  alluring.  It  arises  from  out  that  sombre 
stretch  of  fires,  which  at  moments  pierce  it  and 
color  fancies  a  la  Martynn.  In  a  busy  life  like  that 
of  Canal  is,  an  adventure  of  this  kind  is  swept  away 
like  a  corn-flower  by  a  mountain  torrent  But  in 


122  MODESTE  MIGNON 

the  life  of  a  young  secretary,  waiting  for  the  return 
to  power  of  the  system  whose  representative  is  his 
protector  and  who  was  prudently  bringing  up 
Canal  is  to  be  an  influential  politician,  this  pretty 
girl  whom  in  his  imagination  he  saw  as  the  young 
blond,  was  to  lodge  herself  in  his  heart  and  there 
cause  unlimited  havoc  as  in  the  romance  of  bourgeois 
life,  like  the  proverbial  fox  in  the  barn-yard. 
Ernest  occupied  himself  much,  therefore,  with  the 
stranger  in  Havre,  and  he  replied  by  the  following 
letter,  a  studied  letter,  a  pretentious  letter,  but  one 
in  which  passion  began  to  reveal  itself  through 
pique. 

VIII 

TO  MADEMOISELLE  D'ESTE-M. 

"Mademoiselle,  is  it  really  fair  in  you  to  seat  your- 
self in  the  heart  of  a  poor  poet  with  the  mental 
reservation  of  letting  it  alone,  if  it  is  not  according 
to  your  wishes,  and  bequeathing  to  him  everlasting 
regrets  by  showing  him  for  a  few  moments  an  image 
of  perfection,  even  if  it  were  only  feigned,  or  at 
least  a  beginning  of  happiness?  I  was  very  im- 
provident in  soliciting  that  letter  in  which  you 
began  to  unroll  the  elegant  fabric  of  your  ideas.  A 
man  can  very  well  become  enamored  of  a 
strange  woman  who  understands  how  to  unite  so 
much  boldness  with  so  much  originality;  so  much 
fancy  with  so  much  sentiment.  Who  would  not 


MODESTE  MIGNON  123 

desire  to  know  you,  after  having  read  that  first  con- 
fidence? It  takes  really  great  strength  on  my  part 
to  preserve  my  composure  in  thinking  of  you,  for 
you  have  united  all  that  troubles  the  heart  and  mind 
of  man.  However,  I  avail  myself  of  the  remaining 
composure  which  I  possess  at  this  moment  to  make 
you  some  modest  representations.  Do  you  believe, 
mademoiselle,  that  letters,  more  or  less  true  in  re- 
lation to  life,  more  or  less  hypocritical,  for  the  let- 
ters that  we  write  each  other  will  be  the  expression 
of  the  moment  at  which  they  are  written,  and  not 
the  general  sense  of  our  characters;  do  you  believe, 
I  say,  that  however  beautiful  they  may  be,  they 
will  ever  replace  the  impression  we  make  of  our- 
selves by  the  evidence  of  daily  life?  Man  is  dual. 
There  is  the  invisible  life,  that  of  the  heart,  for 
which  letters  may  suffice,  and  the  mechanical  life  to 
which  alas!  much  more  importance  is  attached  than 
one  thinks  at  your  age.  These  two  existences 
should  correspond  with  the  ideal  which  you  caress, 
and  which — let  it  be  said  in  passing — is  very  rare. 
The  pure,  spontaneous,  disinterested  homage  of  a 
solitary  soul,  educated  and  chaste  at  the  same  time, 
is  one  of  those  celestial  flowers  whose  colors  and 
perfume  are  a  solace  for  all  sorrows,  all  wounds,  all 
treachery  which  literary  life  at  Paris  admits  of,  and 
I  thank  you  with  a  warmth  equal  to  your  own.  But 
after  this  poetical  exchange  of  my  sorrows  for  the 
pearls  of  your  charity,  what  can  you  expect?  I 
have  neither  the  genius  nor  the  magnificent  position 
of  Lord  Byron;  above  all,  I  have  not  the  halo  of  his 


124  MODESTE  MIGNON 

pretended  damnation  and  his  false  social  misfortune; 
but  what  would  you  have  hoped  from  him  in  a  simi- 
lar position?  His  friendship?  Well,  he  who 
should  have  had  only  pride,  was  devoured  by 
wounding  and  sickly  vanities  which  discourage 
friendship.  I,  a  thousand  times  less  great,  may  I 
not  have  discords  of  character  which  render  life  dis- 
agreeable, make  friendship  the  most  difficult  burden  ? 
— What  would  you  receive  in  exchange  for  your 
daydreams?  The  wearisomeness  of  a  life  which 
could  not  be  entirely  yours  ?  This  contract  is  sense- 
less. This  is  the  reason.  Listen.  Your  contem- 
plated poem  is  only  a  plagiarism.  A  young  girl  of  Ger- 
many, who  was  not  like  you  only  half  German,  but 
a  whole-souled  German,  adored  Goethe  in  the  mad- 
ness of  her  twenty  years;  she  made  him  her  friend, 
her  religion,  her  god,  although  she  knew  he  was 
married.  Madame  Goethe,  as  a  good  German,  as 
the  wife  of  a  poet,  lent  herself  to  this  worship  in  a 
very  crafty  way,  but  it  did  not  cure  Bettina.  But 
what  happened  ?  The  enthusiast  ended  by  marry- 
ing some  good,  fat  German. 

"Between  ourselves  let  us  acknowledge  that  a 
young  girl  who  would  make  herself  the  servant  of 
genius,  who  would  make  herself  his  equal  through 
the  intellect,  who  would  piously  adore  him  until 
death,  like  one  of  those  divine  figures  traced  by 
painters  on  the  panels  of  their  mystic  chapels,  and 
who  when  Germany  shall  lose  Goethe,  will  retire 
into  some  solitude  never  more  to  see  anyone,  as  did 
the  beloved  of  Bolingbroke,  let  us  acknowledge  that 


MODESTE  MIGNON  125 

this  young  girl  will  be  a  part  of  the  glory  of  the  poet 
as  Mary  Magdalene  has  ever  been  in  the  bloody 
triumph  of  our  Savior.  If  this  be  the  sublime, 
what  do  you  say  to  the  reverse  of  the  picture  ? 

"Being  only  the  author  of  some  appreciated  poetry, 
1  could  not  claim  the  honor  of  being  worshiped  as  are 
Byron,  Goethe,  two  giants  of  poetry  and  egotism.  I 
am  very  little  of  a  martyr;  I  have  at  the  same  time 
heart  and  ambition,  I  am  still  young  and  have  my 
future  to  make.  See  me  as  I  am.  The  favor  of  the 
king,  the  protection  of  his  ministers,  give  me  suffi- 
cient means  to  live  on.  I  have  all  the  outward 
bearing  of  a  very  ordinary  man.  1  go  to  entertain- 
ments in  Paris  just  like  any  other  blockhead,  but 
in  a  carriage  whose  wheels  do  not  rest  upon  as  solid 
a  foundation  as  is  the  case  with  one  whose  income 
comes  from  government  bonds. 

"If  I  am  not  rich,  neither  have  I  the  picturesque 
consolations  given  by  living  in  a  garret,  by  work 
misunderstood,  by  the  glory  in  misery  of  certain 
men  much  greater  than  I;  as  D'Arthez  for  example. 
What  prosaic  denouement  do  you  see  in  the  enchant- 
ing fancies  of  your  youthful  enthusiasm?  Let  us 
stop  here.  If  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  seem  to 
you  an  earthly  paragon,  you  have  been  for  me  some- 
thing as  luminous  and  elevated  as  the  stars  which 
but  blaze  forth  to  vanish  suddenly.  Let  nothing 
tarnish  this  episode  in  our  lives.  By  continuing  in 
this  way  I  could  love  you,  could  conceive  one  of 
those  mad  passions,  which  breakdown  all  obstacles, 
and  which  kindle  in  the  heart  fires  whose  violence 


126  MODESTE  MIGNON 

is  alarming  in  proportion  to  its  duration.  And 
supposing  that  I  should  succeed  with  you,  we 
should  finish  in  the  most  ordinary  way;  a  marriage, 
housekeeping  and  children — Oh!  Belise  and  Hen- 
riette  Chrysale  together!  is  it  possible? — So  then, 
adieu!" 


* 
IX 

TO  MONSIEUR  DE  CANALIS 

"My  friend,  your  letter  has  given  me  as  much  pain 
as  pleasure.  Soon,  perhaps,  we  shall  have  only 
pleasure  in  reading  each  others'  letters.  Under- 
stand me  thoroughly.  We  speak  to  God,  we  ask 
many  things  of  Him,  He  remains  silent  I  wish  to 
find  in  you  the  replies  which  God  does  not  make  to 
us.  Can  not  the  friendship  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Gournay  and  Montaigne  be  repeated  ?  Do  you  not 
know  of  the  household  of  Sismonde  de  Sismondi  in 
Geneva,  the  happiest  home,  I  have  been  told,  ever 
known,  something  like  that  of  the  Marquis  and 
Marquise  of  Pescaire — happy  until  their  old  age? 
Mon  Dieu!  is  it  impossible  that  there  should  exist, 
at  a  distance  from  each  other,  two  souls  which  re- 
spond as  in  a  symphony,  vibrating  and  producing  a 
lovely  melody?  Man  alone  in  creation  is  at  the 
same  time  the  harp,  the  musician  and  the  listener. 
Do  you  think  me  uneasy  and  jealous  after  the  man- 
ner of  ordinary  women  ?  Do  I  not  know  that  you 
go  into  society,  and  see  there  the  most  beautiful  and 
intellectual  women  of  Paris?  May  I  not  presume 
that  one  of  these  sirens  condescends  to  entwine  you 
with  her  cold,  scaly  arms  and  that  she  has  made  the 
reply  whose  prosaic  consequences  sadden  me? 
There  is,  my  friend,  something  more  beautiful  than 
(127) 


128  MODESTE  MIGNON 

these  flowers  of  Parisian  coquetry;  there  exists  a 
flower  which  grows  on  the  Alpine  peaks  called  men 
of  genius,  the  pride  of  humanity,  which  they  fer- 
tilize with  the  dews  of  heaven  drawn  by  their  lofty 
peaks.  I  would  cultivate  this  flower  and  make  it 
bloom,  for  its  wild  sweet  fragrance  will  never  fail 
us,  it  is  eternal.  Do  me  the  honor  to  believe  that 
there  is  nothing  low  or  commonplace  about  me.  If 
I  had  been  Bettina,  for  I  know  to  whom  you  allude, 
I  should  never  have  been  Madame  d'Arnim,  and  if 
I  had  been  one  of  Byron's  many  loves,  I  should  at 
this  moment  be  in  a  convent.  You  have  roused  my 
sensitiveness.  You  do  not  know  me,  but  you  will 
know  me.  I  feel  within  myself  something  sublime 
and  of  which  I  dare  speak  without  vanity.  God 
has  put  in  my  heart  the  root  of  that  hybrid  plant 
grown  on  those  Alpine  summits,  of  which  I  have 
just  spoken  and  which  I  do  not  want  to  place  in  a 
flower-pot  on  my  window-sill  to  see  it  die  there. 
No,  this  magnificent,  unique  flower,  with  its  intoxi- 
cating perfume,  will  never  be  dragged  into  the  vul- 
garities of  life — it  is  yours,  yours  which  no  other 
look  shall  wither,  yours  forever.  Yes,  dear  poet,  to 
you  belong  all  my  thoughts,  even  the  most  hidden, 
the  most  foolish;  to  you  belongs  without  reserve, 
the  heart  of  a  young  girl,  an  infinite  affection.  If 
your  person  does  not  suit  me,  I  will  not  marry.  I 
can  live  in  the  life  of  the  heart,  in  your  mind,  in 
your  sentiments,  they  please  me  and  I  will  always 
be  what  I  am, — your  friend.  Your  nature  is  some- 
thing beautiful  in  its  morality,  and  that  pleases  me. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  129 

There  will  be  my  life.  Do  not  contemn  a  young 
and  pretty  handmaiden  who  does  not  recoil  in  hor- 
ror at  the  idea  of  one  day  becoming  the  aged  com- 
panion of  a  poet,  embodying,  in  a  small  measure, 
for  him,  the  qualities  of  mother,  housekeeper,  and 
guide,  while  being  a  little  his  treasure.  This 
handmaiden,  so  precious  to  the  poet's  life,  is  Friend- 
ship, pure  and  disinterested  friendship  to  whom  he 
can  bring  everything,  who  sometimes  listens,  while 
warning,  who  watches,  while  spinning  by  the  even- 
ing lamp,  in  order  to  be  there  when  the  poet  returns 
soaked  by  the  rain  or  vexed  in  mind.  That  is  my 
destiny,  if  perchance  I  have  not  that  of  a  happy  and 
devoted  wife  and  I  smile  at  either  prospect.  Do 
you  think  that  France  will  be  wronged  because 
Mademoiselle  d'Este  will  not  give  her  country  two 
or  three  sons;  because  she  will  not  be  another  Ma- 
dame Vilquin?  As  for  me  I  shall  never  be  an  old 
maid.  I  shall  become  a  mother  in  taking  care  of 
others  and  by  my  secret  co-operation  with  the  life  of 
a  great  man,  to  whom  I  will  relate  my  thoughts  and 
my  efforts  here  below.  I  have  the  most  profound 
horror  of  commonplaceness.  If  I  am  free,  if  I  am 
rich,  I  know  that  I  am  young  and  handsome;  I  will 
never  belong  to  any  idiot  just  because  he  happens 
to  be  the  son  of  some  French  peer,  or  to  some  mer- 
chant who  may  lose  all  his  fortune  in  a  day,  or  to 
some  handsome  Adonis  who  will  be  the  woman  of 
the  household,  or  to  any  man  who  would  make  me 
blush  twenty  times  a  day  because  I  belonged  to 
him.  Be  assured  on  that  subject.  My  father  has 
9 


130  MODESTE  MIGNON 

too  much  respect  for  my  wishes,  and  will  never  op- 
pose them.  If  I  please  my  poet,  if  he  please  me, 
the  brilliant  edifice  of  our  love  will  tower  so  high 
that  it  will  be  perfectly  inaccessible  to  any  kind  of 
misfortune.  I  am  an  eaglet,  and  you  will  see  it  in 
my  eyes.  I  will  not  repeat  to  you  that  which  I 
have  already  said,  but  will  put  it  in  fewer  words, 
in  avowing  to  you  that  I  shall  be  the  happiest  of 
women  to  be  imprisoned  by  love,  as  I  am  now  by 
my  father's  will.  Ah!  my  friend,  let  us  reduce  to 
reality  the  romance  which  came  to  us  through  the 
exercise  of  my  will. 

"A  young  girl  with  a  lively  imagination,  shut  up 
in  a  tower,  is  dying  to  be  free  to  run  in  the  park 
over  which  only  her  eyes  can  roam.  She  invents 
the  means  to  break  through  her  grating,  jumps  from 
her  window,  climbs  over  the  wall  of  the  park  and 
goes  to  play  with  her  neighbor.  It  is  the  everlast- 
ing comedy. — Well,  this  young  girl  is  my  soul,  and 
the  neighbor's  park  is  your  genius.  Is  it  not  en- 
tirely natural  ?  Was  there  ever  a  neighbor  who 
complained  because  his  trellis  was  broken  by  pretty 
feet  ?  That  is  for  the  poet  to  say.  But  does  the 
sublime  reasoner  of  the  comedy  of  Moliere  wish  for 
more  reasons  ?  Here  they  are.  My  dear  Geronte, 
ordinarily  marriages  are  made  contrary  to  common 
sense.  A  family  makes  inquiries  about  a  young 
man:  if  the  Leander  furnished  by  a  neighboring 
friend,  or  angled  for  at  a  ball  have  not  stolen,  if  he 
have  no  visible  blemish,  if  he  have  ample  fortune, 
if  he  have  attended  a  college  or  a  school  of  law, 


MODESTE  MIGNON  131 

having  satisfied  the  vulgar  ideas  upon  education, 
and  if  he  dress  well, — then  he  is  permitted  to  visit 
a  young  woman  who  has  been  dressed  all  day  to  re- 
ceive him,  and  whose  mother  cautions  her  to  guard 
well  her  speech  and  permit  nothing  of  her  soul  or 
heart  to  show  itself  in  her  face,  on  which  must  rest 
the  fixed  smile  of  a  danseuse  finishing  a  pirouette. 
She  fortifies  her  also  with  the  most  positive  instruc- 
tions upon  the  danger  of  showing  her  real  character 
or  of  appearing  too  well-educated.  When  the  settle- 
ments have  been  agreed  upon,  the  parents  are  good 
enough  to  invite  the  young  people  to  make  each 
other's  acquaintance  during  the  fugitive  moments  in 
which  they  are  alone,  when  they  talk  and  walk 
without  any  kind  of  freedom,  because  they  already 
feel  themselves  allied.  A  man  clothes  his  soul  as 
well  as  his  body  at  this  time,  and  the  girl  does  the 
same.  This  pitiable  comedy  interspersed  with 
bouquets,  ornaments,  and  theatre  parties  is  called 
paying  your  addresses.  You  see  what  has  disgusted 
me,  and  I  wish  to  make  the  actual  marriage  follow 
a  long  marriage  of  the  souls.  A  girl  has  only  this 
moment  in  all  her  life  in  which  reflection,  foresight 
and  experience  may  be  useful  to  her.  She  gambles 
with  her  liberty  and  her  happiness  and  you  allow  her 
neither  the  dice-box  nor  the  dice;  she  risks  all  and  is 
only  allowed  to  be  a  spectator.  I  have  the  right,  the 
will,  the  power  and  the  permission  to  make  my  own 
unhappiness,  and  I  make  use  of  it  as  my  mother  did, 
who,  guided  by  instinct,  married  the  most  generous, 
the  most  devoted,  the  most  loving  of  men,  with 


132  MODESTE  MIGNON 

whom  she  fell  in  love,  for  his  beauty,  at  a  party.  I 
know  that  you  are  a  poet,  free  and  handsome.  Be 
assured  that  I  should  never  have  chosen  for  a  confi- 
dant one  of  your  brothers  in  Apollo  who  was  already 
married.  If  my  mother  was  seduced  by  beauty, 
which  is  perhaps  the  genius  of  form,  why  should 
not  I  be  attracted  by  the  mind  and  form  combined? 
Shall  I  not  know  you  better  in  studying  you  through 
this  correspondence  than  by  the  usual  experience 
of  'receiving  your  addresses'  for  some  months? 
'That  is  the  question,'  as  Hamlet  says.  But  my 
proceeding,  my  dear  Chrysale,  has,  at  least,  the 
advantage  of  not  compromising  our  personalities. 
I  know  that  love  has  its  illusions  and  that  every 
illusion  has  its  to-morrow.  In  this  may  be  found 
the  reason  of  so  many  separations  between  lovers 
who  believed  themselves  bound  for  life.  The  real 
proof  of  affection  lies  in  two  things, — suffering  and 
happiness.  Then,  after  having  passed  through  this 
double  ordeal  of  life,  in  which  two  beings  have  dis- 
played their  defects  and  their  good  qualities  and 
have  noted  each  other's  characteristics  through  all, 
they  can  safely  go  down  to  the  grave  hand  in  hand. 
"But,  my  dear  Argante,  who  tells  you  that  our 
little  budding  drama  shall  have  no  future? — At  all 
events,  shall  we  not  have  had  the  pleasure  of  our 
correspondence?  I  await  your  orders,  monsieur, 
and  remain  with  a  full  heart, 

"Your  handmaiden, 

"O.  D'ESTE-M." 


MODESTE  MIGNON  133 


TO    MADEMOISELLE  O.    D'ESTE-M. 

"You  are  a  witch,  and  I  love  you!  Is  that  what 
you  wish,  eccentric  girl  ?  Perhaps  you  wish  to 
while  away  the  tedium  of  your  provincial  life  with 
the  spectacle  of  the  follies  which  a  poet  can  com- 
mit? That  would  be  very  wicked  of  you.  Your 
two  letters  imply  just  enough  mischief  to  inspire  a 
Parisian  with  this  doubt.  But  I  am  no  longer 
master  of  myself,  my  life  and  my  future  depend 
upon  the  answer  which  you  will  make  to  me.  Tell 
me  if  the  certainty  of  limitless  affection,  oblivious 
to  all  conventionalities,  will  move  you;  in  short, 
if  you  will  permit  me  to  solicit  you  in  marriage.— 
There  will  be  quite  enough  uncertainty  and  agony 
for  me  in  the  torture  of  knowing  whether  my  per- 
sonality will  please  you.  If  you  reply  favorably  to 
me,  I  shall  change  my  life  and  bid  adieu  to  many  of 
the  tiresome  things  which  we  are  foolish  enough  to 
call  happiness. 

"Happiness,  my  dear,  beautiful  unknown,  is  that 
which  you  dream  it  to  be;  a  complete  blending  of 
sentiments,  a  perfect  harmony  of  the  soul,  a  vivid 
impression  of  the  ideal,  such  as  God  permits  of  it 
here  below — of  the  common  actions  of  life  whose 
habits  we  must  perforce  obey,  in  short,  the  con- 
stancy of  the  heart  more  to  be  prized  than  that 
which  we  call  fidelity.  Can  we  claim  that  is  mak- 
ing sacrifices,  which  is  the  pursuit  of  the  supreme 


134  MODESTE  MIGNON 

good,  the  dream  of  poets,  the  dream  of  maidens, 
the  poem  which,  at  the  commencement  of  life,  as 
soon  as  thought  tries  its  wings,  every  noble  mind 
has  caressed  and  fondly  brooded  over,  only  to  see  it 
dashed  upon  some  stumbling  block  as  hard  as  it  is 
vulgar, — for,  in  almost  all  cases,  the  foot  of  Reality 
steps  immediately  upon  this  mysterious  and  rarely 
hatched  egg.  Therefore,  I  will  not  talk  to  you  more 
of  myself,  nor  of  my  past,  nor  of  my  character,  nor 
of  an  affection  half-maternal  on  the  one  side,  and 
filial  on  mine,  which  you  have  already  seriously 
changed,  an  effect  upon  my  life  which  will  explain 
the  word  sacrifice.  Already  you  have  made  me 
very  forgetful,  not  to  say  ungrateful ;  does  that  sat- 
isfy you  ?  Oh !  speak,  say  one  word  to  me  and  I 
will  love  you  forever  until  my  eyes  close  in  death, 
— as  the  Marquis  de  Pescaire  loved  his  wife,  as 
Romeo  loved  Juliet,  and  faithfully.  Our  life,  for 
me  at  least,  will  be  that  'felicity  without  pain,'  of 
which  Dante  speaks  as  being  the  element  of  his 
Paradiso — a  poem  far  superior  to  his  Inferno. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  it  is  not  myself  whom  I 
doubt  in  the  long  reveries  in  which,  like  yourself 
perhaps,  I  delight  in  embracing  the  chimerical 
course  of  a  longed-for  existence — no,  it  is  you.  Yes, 
dear,  I  feel  myself  capable  of  loving  in  this  way,  to 
walk  on  toward  the  tomb  with  deliberate  slowness 
and  an  ever-smiling  face,  with  my  loved  one  upon 
my  arm,  with  no  cloud  to  obscure  the  sunshine  of 
our  souls.  Yes,  I  have  the  courage  to  contemplate 
our  mutual  old  age,  to  see  our  hair  white,  like  the 


MODESTE  MIGNON  135 

venerable  historian  of  Italy,  still  animated  by  the 
same  affection;  but  transformed  according  to  the 
spirit  of  each  period.  Thus  you  see  I  can  no  longer 
be  only  your  friend.  Although  you  say  Chrysale, 
Geronte  and  Argante  live  again  in  me,  1  am  not  yet 
old  enough  to  drink  from  a  cup  held  to  my  lips  by 
the  charming  hands  of  a  veiled  woman  without  feel- 
ing a  ferocious  desire  to  tear  off  her  mask  and  see 
the  face  it  conceals.  Write  me  no  more  or  give  me 
hope.  I  must  see  you  or  I  must  give  up  everything. 
Must  I  bid  you  adieu?  Permit  me  to  sign  myself 

"YOUR  FRIEND?" 
XI 

TO  MONSIEUR  DE  CANALIS 

"What  flattery!  With  what  rapidity  the  grave 
Ansel  me  has  become  the  handsome  Leander!  To 
what  ought  I  to  attribute  such  a  change  ?  Is  it  to 
the  black  ink  which  I  have  put  upon  this  white 
paper  ?  to  these  ideas  which  are  to  the  flowers  of 
my  soul  what  a  rose  drawn  with  a  pencil  is  to  the 
rose  of  the  garden ;  or  to  the  remembrance  of  the 
young  girl  taken  for  me,  and  who  compared  to  me 
is  what  the  chambermaid  is  to  the  mistress  ?  Have 
we  changed  parts  ?  Am  I  Reason,  and  you  Fancy  ? 
But  a  truce  to  jesting.  Your  letter  has  given  me 
the  most  intoxicating  pleasures  of  the  heart,  the 
first  which  I  do  not  owe  to  family  affection.  What 
are  the  ties  of  blood,  as  the  poet  says,  which  have 


136  MODESTE  MIGNON 

such  weight  upon  ordinary  minds,  compared  to 
those  which  Heaven  forges  for  us  in  mysterious 
sympathies  ?  Let  me  thank  you — no,  one  does  not 
give  thanks  for  such  things — receive  my  blessing 
for  the  happiness  you  have  given  me,  be  happy  for 
the  joy  with  which  you  have  filled  my  soul.  You 
have  explained  to  me  some  apparent  injustices  of 
social  life.  There  is  an  inexplicable  brilliancy  in 
glory,  a  virility  which  belongs  only  to  man,  and 
God  has  forbidden  us  women  to  wear  this  aureole, 
but  has  left  to  us  love  and  tenderness,  with  which 
to  refresh  the  foreheads  bathed  in  its  terrible  light; 
1  have  found  my  mission,  or  rather  you  have  con- 
firmed me  in  it. 

"Sometimes,  my  friend,  I  have  risen  in  the  morn- 
ing in  a  mood  of  inconceivable  sweetness.  A  kind 
of  peace,  tender  and  divine,  has  given  me  an  idea 
of  Heaven.  My  first  thought  was  like  a  benedic- 
tion. I  called  these  mornings  my  sweet  dawns  of 
Germany  in  contrast  to  my  sunsets  of  the  South, 
full  of  heroic  deeds,  of  battles,  of  Roman  fetes  and 
of  passionate-poetry.  Well,  after  having  read  that 
letter  in  which  you  show  a  feverish  impatience,  I 
had  in  my  heart  the  freshness  of  one  of  those  celes- 
tial awakenings  when  I  loved  the  air  and  all  nature, 
and  felt  myself  destined  to  die  for  one  I  love.  One 
of  your  poems,  The  Maiden's  Song,  describes  those 
delicious  moments,  when  joy  is  tender  and  prayer 
a  necessity.  This  is  my  favorite.  Do  you  wish 
me  to  tell  you  all  my  flattery  in  one?  Well  then,  I 
believe  you  worthy  to  be  me! — 


MODESTE  MIGNON  137 

"Your  letter,  although  short,  has  allowed  me  to 
read  you.  Yes,  I  have  divined  tumultuous  struggles, 
your  piqued  curiosity,  your  pfons,  the  faggots 
brought — by  whom  ? — for  affection's  pyre.  But  I  do 
not  yet  know  you  well  enough  to  gratify  your  de- 
mand. Listen,  dear  one,  mystery  allows  me  this 
abandon  which  permits  the  depths  of  the  soul  to  be 
seen.  Once  we  meet,  good-bye  to  our  mutual 
knowledge.  Will  you  make  a  compact ?  Was  the 
first  one  to  your  disadvantage?  You  gained  my 
esteem  by  it  and  it  is  a  good  deal,  my  friend,  to 
have  admiration  added  to  esteem. 

"Here  it  is.  Write  me  first  your  life  in  a  few 
words,  then  relate  to  me  your  life  from  day  to  day 
at  Paris  without  any  disguise  and  as  if  you  were 
talking  to  an  old  friend;  afterwards,  our  friendship 
shall  advance  another  step.  I  will  see  you,  that  I 
promise,  and  it  is  much.  All  this,  dear,  is  neither 
an  adventure  nor  an  intrigue.  I  tell  you  beforehand 
that  there  cannot  result  from  it  any  affair,  as  you 
men  say  among  yourselves.  It  concerns  my  life, 
which  causes  me  sometimes  fearful  remorse  at  the 
thoughts  which  fly  in  flocks  to  you ;  it  concerns  the 
life  of  an  adored  father  and  mother  whom  my  choice 
must  please,  and  who  must  find  a  true  son  in  my 
friend. 

"Tell  me!  to  what  extent  can  superb  minds  like 
yours — to  which  God  gives  the  wings  of  His  angels, 
without  always  adding  their  perfection — be  con- 
formed to  the  family  life  with  its  petty  sufferings? 
— What  a  text  for  me  to  meditate  upon  already! 


138  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Ah !  though  I  said  to  my  heart  before  coming  to  you 
'Let  us  go  on!'  I  have  not  had  a  less  palpitating 
heart  in  the  race.  I  have  hidden  from  myself 
neither  the  barrenness  of  the  path  nor  the  difficul- 
ties of  the  mountain  which  I  have  to  climb.  I  have 
thought  of  everything  during  my  long  reveries.  Do 
I  not  know  that  men  eminent  as  you,  know  of  the 
love  which  they  inspire,  quite  as  well  as  that  which 
they  feel,  that  they  have  more  than  one  romance  in 
their  lives,  and  that  you,  especially,  who  send  forth 
those  airy  poems  which  women  buy  at  ridiculous 
cost,  you  are  attracted  more  by  the  climax 
than  by  the  opening  chapters.  Nevertheless,  I  said 
to  my  heart,  'Let  us  go  on.'  I  have  studied,  more 
than  you  think,  those  grand  summits  of  Humanity 
which  you  tell  me  are  so  cold.  Have  you  not  told 
me  that  Byron  and  Goethe  are  two  giants  of  egotism 
and  poetry?  Ah!  my  friend,  there  you  have  fallen 
into  the  error  into  which  superficial  people  fall ; 
but  it  may  be  false  modesty  with  you,  generosity, 
or  the  desire  to  escape  me.  The  ordinary  mind  may 
take  the  effects  of  work  for  the  development  of  per- 
sonality, but  you  cannot.  Neither  Lord  Byron,  nor 
Goethe,  nor  Walter  Scott,  nor  any  inventor  belongs 
to  himself,  he  is  the  slave  of  his  idea.  This  mys- 
terious power  is  more  jealous  than  a  woman;  it  ab- 
sorbs them;  it  makes  them  live  and  die  for  its  own 
benefit  It  is  true  that  the  visible  development  of 
that  hidden  existence  resembles  egotism  in  its 
results,  but  who  shall  dare  to  say  that  the  man  who 
has  sold  himself  for  the  pleasure,  the  instruction,  or 


MODESTE  MIGNON  139 

the  aggrandizement  of  his  time  is  an  egotist?  Is  a 
mother  imbued  with  egotism  when  she  sacrifices 
everything  for  her  child? — Well,  the  detractors  of 
genius  do  not  see  its  prolific  maternity,  that  is  all. 
The  life  of  the  poet  is  such  a  continual  sacrifice  that 
he  requires  a  gigantic  organization  to  be  able  to  give 
himself  up  to  the  pleasures  of  an  everyday  life. 
Therefore,  into  what  troubles  may  he  not  fall  when, 
following  Moliere's  example,  he  attempts  to  live  the 
life  of  the  sentiments,  expressing  them  entirely  by 
their  most  perilous  crises;  for  to  me,  remembering 
Moliere's  private  life,  his  comedies  are  horrible. 
The  generosity  of  genius  seems  to  me  half  divine 
and  I  have  placed  you  in  that  noble  family  of  so- 
called  egoists.  Ah !  if  I  had  found  there  selfishness, 
calculation  and  ambition,  there,  where  are  all  my 
best  loved  flowers  of  the  heart,  you  do  not  know 
what  long  sorrow  I  should  have  suffered.  1  met 
with  disappointment  at  the  door  of  my  sixteenth 
year!  What  would  have  become  of  me,  if,  at 
twenty  years  of  age,  I  had  learned  that  glory  is  a 
deception  and  that  he,  who  in  his  works  had  ex- 
pressed so  many  of  the  sentiments  hidden  in  my 
heart,  misunderstood  that  heart  when  it  was  un- 
veiled for  him  alone?  Oh!  my  friend,  do  you  know 
what  would  have  happened  to  me?  You  shall  pen- 
etrate into  the  recesses  of  my  soul.  I  should  have 
said  to  my  father,  'Bring  me  the  son-in-law  who 
will  be  to  your  taste,  I  relinquish  my  own  wishes, 
marry  me  to  whomsoever  you  please. '  Had  this  man 
been  a  lawyer,  banker,  miser,  fool  or  a  provincial 


140  MODESTE  MIGNON 

as  tiresome  as  a  rainy  day,  common  as  a  lower 
class  politician,  a  manufacturer,  or  some  brave 
soldier  without  an  idea  in  his  head,  he  would  have 
found  in  me  the  most  resigned  and  attentive  of 
servants.  But  what  a  terrible  suicide  for  every  in- 
stant of  one's  life!  My  heart  could  never  have  un- 
folded itself  in  the  life-giving  rays  of  a  beloved  sun! 
Not  a  murmur  would  have  revealed  to  my  father, 
my  mother  or  my  children,  the  suicide  of  the 
creature,  who  at  this  moment  is  shaking  the  bars 
of  her  prison,  darting  lightning  from  her  eyes,  and 
flying  with  open  wings  toward  you,  to  place  herself 
as  a  Polyhymnia  in  the  corner  of  your  study,  to 
breathe  the  air  of  your  presence,  and  to  look  with 
curious  eyes  upon  what  is  there.  Sometimes,  when 
in  the  fields  where  my  husband  might  have  taken 
me,  I  would  have  gone  a  little  apart  from  my  little 
ones  and  shed  a  few  secret  and  bitter  tears  at  the 
sight  of  a  glorious  morning;  and,  hidden  in  my 
heart  and  in  a  corner  of  my  bureau  drawer,  perhaps 
I  should  have  kept  a  little  treasure,  the  comfort  of 
poor  girls  abused  by  love,  poetic  souls  drawn  to  their 
agony  by  smiles! — But  I  believe  in  you,  my  friend. 
This  belief  justifies  the  most  fantastic  thoughts  of 
my  secret  ambition;  see  how  far  my  sincerity  goes, 
at  moments,  I  would  wish  to  be  in  the  middle  of  the 
book  we  are  beginning,  so  much  do  I  feel  the  stead- 
fastness of  my  sentiments,  so  much  strength  of  heart 
to  love,  so  much  constancy  through  reason,  so  much 
heroism  for  the  self -created  duty — if  love  indeed  can 
ever  be  called  duty. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  141 

"If  you  could  follow  me  into  the  magnificent  re- 
treat where  I  see  ourselves  happy,  if  you  could  know 
my  projects,  there  would  escape  from  you  a  terrible 
phrase  in  which  would  be  the  word  folly,  and  per- 
haps I  should  be  cruelly  punished  for  having  sent  so 
much  poetry  to  a  poet.  Yes,  I  wish  to  be  a  spring 
as  inexhaustible  as  a  virgin  land,  during  the  twenty 
years  in  which  nature  allows  us  to  shine.  I  would 
chase  away  satiety  by  coquetry  and  love-making. 
I  will  be  courageous  for  my  friend,  as  most  women 
are  for  the  world.  I  wish  to  vary  happiness,  I 
would  put  intelligence  into  tenderness,  piquancy 
into  fidelity.  lam  ambitious  to  kill  the  rivals  of 
the  past,  exorcise  the  outward  sorrows  by  the 
lovableness  of  the  wife,  by  her  proud  abnegation, 
and  to  take,  throughout  all  my  life,  that  care  of  the 
nest  which  birds  take  only  for  a  short  time.  This 
immense  dowry  belongs,  and  should  be  offered,  only 
to  some  great  man  before  it  falls  into  the  degrada- 
tion of  common  transactions.  Do  you  now  think 
my  first  letter  a  mistake?  The  wind  of  a  myste- 
rious will  has  blown  me  toward  you,  as  a  tempest 
carries  a  rose  to  the  heart  of  a  majestic  willow,  and 
in  the  letter  which  I  hold  here  upon  my  heart  you 
have  written  like  your  ancestor  when  he  set  out  for 
the  Crusades,  'God  wills  it.'  But  you  will  think 
me  a  chatterbox.  Everyone  about  me  says :  'Ma- 
demoiselle is  very  taciturn.' 

"O.  D'ESTE-M." 


These  letters  seemed  very  original  to  the  persons 
to  whose  kindness  La  Com'edie  Humaine  is  due,  but 
their  admiration  for  this  duel  with  crossing  pens, 
between  two  minds,  while  wearing  the  visor  of  the 
most  severe  incognito,  may  not  be  shared  by  the 
public.  Eighty  out  of  every  hundred  spectators 
would  have  wearied  of  this  fencing  match.  In  all 
countries  of  constitutional  government,  the  respect 
due  to  the  majority,  even  if  it  be  only  felt  by  pre- 
sentiment, has  led  us  to  suppress  eleven  other  let- 
ters exchanged  between  Ernest  and  Modeste  during 
the  month  of  September.  If  a  complimentary 
majority  should  claim  them,  we  hope  they  will  find 
the  means,  some  day,  to  restore  them  here. 

Incited  by  a  mind  as  aggressive  as  the  heart 
seemed  adorable,  the  truly  heroic  sentiments  of  the 
poor  private  secretary  gave  themselves  ample  scope 
in  these  letters,  so  that  one's  imagination  may 
readily  make  them  more  beautiful  than  they  are,  as 
the  communion  of  two  free  souls  is  always  pleasing. 
Ernest  lived  only  by  these  sweet  morsels  of  paper, 
as  a  miser  lives  only  by  bank  notes;  while  with 
Modeste,  a  deep  love  resulted  from  the  pleasure  of 
agitating  a  famous  life  and  becoming,  in  spite  of 
distance,  its  mainspring.  The  heart  of  Ernest  com- 
plemented the  glory  of  Canalis.  Often,  alas!  we 
must  take  two  men  to  make  a  perfect  lover,  as  in 
(143) 


144  MODESTE  MIGNON 

literature  a  type  is  composed  only  by  using  the 
peculiarities  of  many  similar  characters.  How 
many  times  has  a  woman  said,  after  intimate  con- 
versations in  a  drawing-room,  "That  man  is  the 
beau  ideal  of  my  soul,  but  I  fell  in  love  with  this 
one,  who  is  only  the  dream  of  my  senses." 

The  last  letter  written  by  Modeste,  which  fol- 
lows, allows  us  to  see  the  enchanted  isle  whither 
the  meanderings  of  this  correspondence  had  led 
these  two  lovers. 


XII 
TO  MONSIEUR  DE  CANALIS 

"On  Sunday  be  at  Havre.  Enter  the  church,  and, 
after  the  one-hour  mass,  go  around  the  nave  once  or 
twice  and  leave  without  speaking  to  anyone,  with- 
out asking  a  question,  no  matter  what  it  may  be- 
but  wear  a  white  rose  in  your  buttonhole.  Then 
return  to  Paris  where  you  will  find  a  reply.  This 
will  not  be  what  you  think,  for  I  have  told  you  that 
the  future  is  no  longer  mine. — But,  should  I  not  be 
very  foolish  to  say  'yes'  without  having  seen 
you?  When  I  have  seen  you,  I  can  say 'no' with- 
out wounding  you,  and  I  will  be  sure  that  you  do 
not  see  me." 

This  letter  had  been  sent  the  night  before  the  day 
on  which  the  useless  struggle  between  Modeste  and 
Dumay  had  taken  place.  Therefore,  the  happy 


MODESTE  MIGNON  145 

Modeste  awaited,  with  a  sickly  impatience,  the 
Sunday  when  her  eyes  would  decide  in  favor  of  the 
right  or  wrong  of  her  mind  and  heart, — one  of  the 
most  solemn  moments  in  the  life  of  a  girl  and  which 
three  months  of  interchange  of  soul  communion  ren- 
dered as  romantic  as  the  most  exalted  maiden  could 
wish.  Every  one,  except  her  mother,  had  taken  the 
torpidity  of  this  waiting  for  the  calmness  of  inno- 
cence. However  powerful  the  family  laws  and 
religious  bonds  may  be,  there  are  always  some 
Julie  d'Etanges,  some  Clarissas,  some  souls  filled 
like  cups  which  overflow  under  a  divine  pressure. 
Was  not  Modeste  grand  in  exerting  a  savage  energy 
to  repress  her  exuberant  youth,  in  remaining 
demurely  quiet?  We  must  acknowledge  that  the 
remembrance  of  her  sister  was  more  powerful  than 
all  the  social  obstacles;  she  had  armed  her  will 
with  iron  never  to  fail  her  father  nor  her  family. 
But  what  tumultuous  transports !  No  wonder  a 
mother  divined  them. 

The  next  day  about  noon,  Modeste  and  Madame 
Dumay  led  Madame  Mignon  to  a  seat  in  the  sun- 
shine in  the  midst  of  the  flowers.  The  blind 
woman  turned  her  wan  and  faded  face  toward  the 
ocean,  she  breathed  the  air  of  the  sea  and  held  the 
hand  of  Modeste,  who  was  near  her.  The  mother 
struggled  between  pardon  and  remonstrance  ere  she 
questioned  her  daughter,  for  she  had  recognized  her 
love,  and  Modeste  seemed  to  her,  as  to  the  pretended 
Canal  is,  an  exception. 

"Oh!  that  your  father  may  return  soon!     If  he 

IO 


146  MODESTE  MIGNON 

delay  much  longer  he  may  find  only  you  of  those  who 
love  him !  Promise  me  again,  Modeste,  that  you  will 
never  leave  him,"  she  said,  with  maternal  fondness. 

Modeste  lifted  her  mother's  hand  to  her  lips, 
kissed  it  gently  and  replied: 

"Do  I  need  to  repeat  it?" 

"Ah!  my  child,  I  left  my  father  to  follow  my 
husband — left  him  all  alone  too,  as  I  was  the  only 
child. — Is  that  why  God  has  so  afflicted  me  ?  What 
I  ask  of  you,  is  to  marry  to  please  your  father,  to 
keep  him  in  your  heart,  not  to  sacrifice  him  to  your 
happiness,  but  to  cherish  him  in  the  midst  of  your 
home.  Before  losing  my  sight  I  wrote  him  my 
wishes,  he  will  execute  them.  I  advised  him  to 
keep  his  whole  fortune  intact,  not  that  I  distrust  you 
my  child,  but  who  can  be  sure  of  a  son-in-law? 
Was  I  reasonable?  A  glance  of  the  eye  decided  my 
life.  Beauty,  that  so  deceitful  sign,  proved  true  to 
me;  but  should  it  be  the  same  with  you,  my  poor 
child,  swear  to  me  that  if  you  are  attracted  by 
appearance  as  was  your  mother  you  will  allow 
your  father  to  inquire  into  the  behavior,  the  heart 
and  the  previous  life  of  the  man  you  distinguish 
with  your  love — if  there  be  such  a  man." 

"1  will  never  marry  without  the  consent  of  my 
father,"  said  Modeste. 

The  mother  remained  silent  a  long  time  after 
receiving  this  reply,  and  her  pale,  deathlike  face 
showed  that  she  thought  deeply,  weighing,  after 
the  manner  of  the  blind,  the  accent  of  her  daugh- 
ter's voice. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  147 

"You  see,  my  child,  that  if  I  am  slowly  dying 
through  Caroline's  mistake,  your  father  would  not 
survive  yours — I  know  it,  he  would  put  a  bullet 
through  his  brain — there  could  be  no  more  life  or 
happiness  on  earth  for  him — " 

Modeste  walked  a  few  steps  away  from  her  mother 
and  then  returned. 

"Why  did  you  leave  me?"  asked  Madame 
Mignon. 

"Because  you  made  me  weep,  mother,"  replied 
Modeste. 

"Ah!  well  my  little  angel,  kiss  me.  You  do  not 
love  any  one  here,  do  you?  you  have  no  lover?" 
she  asked  holding  her  upon  her  lap,  heart  to 
heart 

"No,  my  dear  mama,"  replied  the  little  Jesuit 

"Can  you  swear  it?" 

"Certainly,"  cried  Modeste. 

Madame  Mignon  said  no  more,  but  she  still 
doubted. 

"And  if  you  choose  a  husband  you  will  consult 
your  father,"  she  added. 

"I  have  promised  it  both  to  my  sister  and  to  you 
my  mother.  What  indiscretion  do  you  think  I  could 
commit  while  I  have  this  ring  on  my  finger  and 
ever  read  the  inscription:  '  Think  of  Bettina  ' — Poor 
sister!" 

At  these  words,  "Poor  sister t"  uttered  by 
Modeste,  a  truce  of  silence  governed  the  mother 
and  daughter.  Tears  flowed  freely  over  the  poor 
woman's  cheeks  and  Modeste  threw  herself  on  her 


148  MODESTE  MIGNON 

knees  saying:  "Forgive  me!  oh!  forgive  me, 
mother!" 

Just  then  the  excellent  Dumay  was  coming  up 
from  Ingouville  in  great  haste, — a  fact  quite  abnor- 
mal in  the  life  of  the  cashier. 

Three  letters  had  brought  them  ruin,  now,  one 
letter  brought  them  fortune.  That  very  morning, 
Dumay  had  received  from  a  sea-captain  just  in  from 
the  China  Seas,  the  first  news  of  his  patron  and  his 
beloved  friend. 


TO  MONSIEUR  DUMAY,  FORMERLY  CASHIER  OF  THE 
HOUSE  OF  MIGNON 

"My  dear  Dumay, 

"I  will  follow  the  vessel  which  brings  you  this  let- 
ter, as  quickly  as  the  chances  of  navigation  will 
allow.  I  did  not  wish  to  leave  my  own  ship,  as  I 
am  so  accustomed  to  it.'  I  told  you  that  no  news 
would  be  good  news.  The  first  words  of  this  letter 
ought  to  make  you  happy,  for  those  words  are :  'I  am 
worth  at  least  seven  millions.'  I  am  bringing  a 
part  of  it  in  indigo,  one-third  in  good  London  and 
Paris  drafts,  and  a  third  in  solid  gold.  The  money 
you  sent  helped  me  to  attain  the  sum  I  had  fixed  in 
my  mind.  I  wished  two  millions  for  each  of  my 
daughters  and  a  sufficiency  for  myself.  I  have  been 
engaged  in  the  wholesale  opium  trade  with  Canton 
houses  ten  times  richer  than  I  am.  You  cannot 
imagine  in  Europe  what  the  wealth  of  these  Chinese 


MODESTE  MIGNON  149 

merchants  is.  I  went  from  Asia  Minor,  where  I 
purchased  opium  at  the  lowest  price,  to  Canton 
where  I  delivered  my  cargoes  to  the  companies  who 
deal  in  this  commodity.  My  last  expedition  was  to 
the  Philippine  Islands,  where  I  exchanged  opium  for 
indigo  of  the  first  quality.  Indeed  I  may  have  five 
or  six  thousand  francs  more  than  I  estimated,  as  I 
counted  my  indigo  at  what  it  cost  me.  I  have  been 
in  good  health  all  the  time,  not  the  slightest  illness. 
That  is  what  comes  of  working  for  one's  children. 
Since  the  second  year  I  have  been  able  to  own  The 
Mignon,  a  pretty  little  brig  of  seven  hundred  tons, 
built  of  teak,  copper-sheathed  and  fastened,  and 
whose  interior  has  been  made  to  suit  me.  That  is 
an  additional  piece  of  property.  The  sea  life,  the 
activity  necessary  to  business,  my  labors  to  become 
a  long-voyage  captain,  have  kept  me  in  excellent 
health.  To  tell  you  all  this  is  the  same  as  telling 
it  to  my  two  daughters  and  my  dear  wife.  I  hope 
that  the  wretch  who  enticed  my  Bettina  away,  left 
her  when  he  found  that  I  was  ruined,  and  that  I 
shall  find  the  wandering  sheep  returned  to  the 
Chalet.  There  is  something  additional  necessary 
in  the  dot  for  that  1  ittle  one.  Ah !  my  dear  Dumay, 
and  my  three  loved  women,  you  have  all  been  in 
my  thoughts  for  the  past  three  years.  You  are  rich 
now,  Dumay.  Your  share,  outside  of  my  fortune, 
amounts  to  five  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs, 
for  which  I  send  you  a  check  which  can  only  be  paid 
to  you  by  the  Mongenod  house,  who  have  been  com- 
municated with  from  New  York.  Only  a  few  more 


150  MODESTE  MIGNON 

months,  and  I  will  see  you  all  again  and,  I  trust,  in 
good  health.  Now,  my  dear  Dumay,  I  have  written 
to  you  only,  because  I  wish  you  to  keep  the  secret 
of  my  fortune  and  I  leave  it  to  you  to  prepare  my 
loved  ones  for  the  joy  of  my  return.  I  have  had 
enough  of  business  and  I  wish  to  leave  Havre.  The 
choice  of  my  sons-in-law  is  of  the  utmost  importance 
to  me.  My  intention  is  to  buy  back  the  estate  and 
the  castle  of  La  Bastie,  to  entail  it  so  that  it  may  be 
worth  at  least  one  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year, 
and  to  ask  the  king  to  allow  one  of  my  sons-in-law 
to  succeed  to  the  name  and  title.  You  will  know, 
Dumay,  what  a  fearful  calamity  overtook  us  through 
the  reputation  of  my  great  wealth  before — the  ruin 
of  one  of  my  daughters.  I  went  away  to  Java  the 
most  unhappy  of  fathers.  I  met  there  an  unhappy 
Dutch  merchant  worth  nine  millions,  whose  two 
daughters  were  tempted  away  by  villains,  and  we 
wept  together,  like  two  children;  so  I  do  not  wish 
anyone  to  know  about  my  fortune.  I  shall  disem- 
bark at  Marseilles  instead  of  at  Havre.  My  second 
mate  is  also  a  Provencal,  an  old  servant  of  our  fam- 
ily, and  I  have  made  a  little  fortune  for  him  too. 
Castagnould  will  have  instructions  from  me  to  buy 
back  La  Bastie,  and  1  will  sell  my  indigo  through 
the  Mongenod  house.  I  will  place  my  funds  in  the 
Bank  of  France  and  will  return  to  you,  with  an 
acknowledged  fortune  in  merchandise  of  only  about 
a  million.  My  daughters  will  be  credited  with  hav- 
ing two  hundred  thousand  francs.  To  choose  which 
of  my  sons-in-law  will  be  worthy  to  succeed  to  my 


MODESTE  MIGNON  151 

name,  my  arms,  my  title,  and  to  live  with  us,  will 
now  be  the  object  of  my  life ;  but  both  of  them  must 
be  like  you  and  me,  honest,  firm,  loyal  men  and 
absolutely  honorable.  I  have  never  doubted  you, 
my  old  friend,  for  a  single  moment.  I  have  con- 
sidered that  my  good  and  excellent  wife,  as  well  as 
yours  and  yourself,  have  erected  an  impassable 
barrier  about  my  daughter,  and  that  I  could  with 
full  assurance  place  a  kiss  on  the  pure  brow  of  the 
angel  who  is  left  to  me.  Bettina-Caroline — if  you 
have  been  able  to  conceal  her  error — shall  have  a 
fortune.  After  having  done  with  war  and  com- 
merce, we  are  going  to  attempt  agriculture  and  you 
will  be  our  overseer.  How  will  that  suit  you? 
Thus,  my  old  friend,  I  leave  you  the  master  of  the 
situation  with  my  family,  to  tell  them  of  my  suc- 
cess or  to  keep  silent.  I  trust  to  your  prudence, 
you  must  do  as  you  judge  best.  In  four  years  there 
are  probably  many  changes  in  their  characters.  I 
fear  the  mother's  love  for  her  daughters,  so  I  leave 
it  all  to  you  instead.  Adieu!  my  oldDumay.  Tell 
my  wife  and  daughters  that  I  have  never  failed  to 
kiss  them  in  my  heart  every  day,  morning  and 
evening.  The  second  check  for  forty  thousand 
francs,  herewith  enclosed,  is  for  my  wife  and  chil- 
dren. Until  we  meet 

"Your  patron  and  friend, 

"CHARLES  MIGNON." 

"Your  father  is  coming,"  said  Madame  Mignon  to 
her  daughter. 


152  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Why  do  you  think  so,  mama  ?"  asked  Modeste. 

"Nothing  but  that  news  could  make  Dumay  run 
so." 

Modeste,  plunged  in  meditation,  had  neither  seen 
nor  heard  Dumay. 

"Victory!"  cried  the  lieutenant,  as  he  reached  the 
threshold  of  the  gate.  "Madame,  the  colonel  has 
never  been  sick  and  he  is  coming  home — he  is  com- 
ing upon  The  Mignon,  a  fine  ship  belonging  to  him, 
and  which  with  the  cargo  of  which  he  tells  me, 
ought  to  be  worth  eight  or  nine  hundred  thousand 
francs.  But  he  recommends  secrecy  for  all  of  us, 
his  heart  is  still  bruised  by  the  misfortune  of  our 
dear  little  departed." 

"Ah!  that  has  to  give  place  to  the  news  of  her 
death,"  said  Madame  Mignon. 

"He  attributes  this  misfortune,  and  I  agree  with 
him, to  the  greed  of  young  men  for  great  fortunes. — 
My  poor  colonel  expects  to  find  our  strayed  lamb 
here  in  our  midst. — Let  us  be  happy  among  our- 
selves, and  speak  to  no  one  of  it,  not  even  to  Latour- 
nelle,  if  possible. — Mademoiselle,"  he  said  in 
Modeste's  ear,  "write  to  your  father  and  tell  him  of 
this  loss,  and  also  of  the  frightful  consequences 
which  this  event  has  had  on  his  wife,  in  order  that 
he  may  be  prepared  for  this  terrible  spectacle.  I 
will  undertake  to  see  that  he  has  this  letter  before 
his  arrival  in  Havre,  for  he  is  compelled  to  return 
by  way  of  Paris — write  him  a  long  letter,  you  will 
have  time,  and  I  will  take  it,  without  fail,  to  Paris 
on  Monday." 


MODESTE  MIGNON  153 

Modeste  was  so  afraid  that  Canal  is  and  Dumay 
might  meet,  that  she  wished  to  go  at  once  to  her 
room  to  write  to  him  postponing  the  rendezvous. 

"Mademoiselle,  tell  me,"  said  Dumay  very 
humbly,  and  barring  Modeste's  passage,  "that  your 
father  will  find  his  daughter  with  no  other  feeling 
in  her  heart  than  that  which  she  had  for  him  and 
her  mother,  before  his  departure?" 

"I  have  sworn  to  my  sister,  to  my  mother  and  to 
myself,  to  be  the  consolation,  the  happiness  and  the 
glory  of  my  father  and — / — will  be!"  replied 
Modeste,  throwing  a  proud  and  disdainful  look  upon 
Dumay.  "Do  not  mar  the  happiness  which  I  have, 
in  soon  expecting  my  father  in  our  midst,  by  your 
unjust  suspicions.  You  cannot  prevent  a  girl's 
heart  from  beating,  do  you  want  to  make  a  mummy 
of  me  ?  My  body  belongs  to  my  family,  but  my  heart 
is  my  own.  If  I  love  anyone,  my  father  and  mother 
shall  know  it.  Are  you  satisfied,  monsieur?" 

"Thank  you,  mademoiselle,"  replied  Dumay, 
"you  make  me  breathe  again ;  but  you  might  call  me 
Dumay,  even  when  you  box  my  ears!" 

"Swear  to  me,"  said  her  mother,  "that  you  have 
not  exchanged  a  look  or  word  with  any  young 
man." 

"I  can  swear  to  that,  mother  dear,"  said  Modeste, 
smiling  and  looking  at  Dumay,  who  noticed  it  and 
smiled  like  a  malicious  young  girl. 

"She  must  be  false  indeed  if  she  is  deceiving 
you!"  cried  Dumay,  when  Modeste  had  gone  into 
the  house. 


154  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"My  daughter  may  have  her  faults,"  replied  the 
mother,  "but  she  is  incapable  of  lying." 

"Ah!  well  then  let  us  be  happy  in  believing  that 
trouble  has  closed  his  account  with  us,"  said  the 
lieutenant. 

"God  grant  it!"  replied  Madame  Mignon.  "You 
will  see  him,  Dumay,  but  I  shall  only  hear  him. 
There  is  much  sadness  in  my  joy." 


At  this  moment,  Modeste,  although  happy  at  the 
return  of  her  father,  was  like  Perrette,  bemoaning 
the  breaking  of  her  eggs.  She  had  hoped  for  more 
of  a  fortune  than  Dumay  had  announced.  Ambitious 
for  her  poet,  she  had  hoped  for  at  least  a  half  of  the 
six  millions,  of  which  she  had  spoken  in  her  second 
letter.  A  prey  to  a  double  joy,  and  agitated  by  the 
chagrin  of  her  comparative  poverty,  she  went  to  the 
piano,  that  confidant  of  young  girls,  who  tell  their 
griefs  and  desires  to  this  friend,  in  expressing  them 
in  the  varied  cadences  of  the  music.  Dumay 
chatted  with  his  wife  while  walking  under  the  win- 
dow, confiding  to  her  the  secret  of  their  fortune  and 
questioning  her  upon  her  inclinations,  wishes  and 
plans. 

Madame  Dumay,  like  her  husband,  had  no  other 
family  than  the  family  Mignon.  They  decided  to 
live  in  Provence,  if  the  Comte  de  la  Bastie  went  to 
Provence,  and  to  leave  their  property  to  whichever 
of  Modeste's  children  seemed  most  to  need  it. 

"Listen  to  Modeste,"  said  Madame  Mignon,  "only 
a  girl  in  love  could  compose  such  melodies  without 
having  studied  music — " 

Houses  may  burn,  fortunes  may  vanish,  fathers 

return  from  long  voyages,  empires  crumble,  cholera 

ravage  cities,  but  the  love  of  a  young  girl  will  follow 

its  course  like  nature,  like  that  fearful  acid  that 

(i55) 


1 56  MODESTE  MIGNON 

chemistry  has  discovered,  which  will  eat  its  way 
through  the  globe  if  nothing  absorbs  it  at  the 
centre. 

The  romance  of  the  situation  had  inspired  Modeste 
to  compose  music  to  these  stanzas,  which  we  must 
quote  here,  although  they  are  printed  in  the  second 
volume  of  the  edition  of  which  Dauriat  spoke — for, 
in  order  to  adapt  them  to  her  music  the  young  artist 
had,  in  interrupting  the  pauses,  made  certain  modi- 
fications which  may  astonish  those  familiar  with  the 
correct,  and  often  too  learned,  style  of  this  poet 

THE  MAIDEN'S  SONG. 
Awake,  my  heart !    Ere  this  the  soaring  lark 
Thrills  the  air  in  songful  greeting  to  the  sun. 
Sleep  not !    From  violet's  dewy  couch  and  dark, 
Sweet  incense  rises  for  the  day  begun. 

One  by  one,  refreshed,  in  rare  glories  new, 
Each  living  flower  in  its  pure  cup  reveals 
Its  image  mirrored  in  a  gem  of  dew — 
A  trembling  pearl  that  the  sun's  ardor  steals. 

Soft  winds  tell  that  the  Angel  of  Roses 

Has  blessed  in  his  flight  the  slumb'ring  flowers. 

His  mission  divine  each  bud  discloses 

And  fresh  hues  confess  his  life-giving  powers. 

Then  rouse  thee,  my  heart !  since  the  soaring  lark 
Thrills  the  air  in  songful  greeting  to  the  sun. 
Naught  sleeps !    From  violet's  dewy  couch  and  dark, 
Sweet  incense  rises  for  the  day  begun. 


PIANO. 


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MODESTE  MIGNON 

Allegretto.  £:  ^ 


157 


£- 


£3E 


Mon  coeur,  16-  ve-toi  ! 


l'a-lou-et- 


£•• 


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te    Se-  coua  en  chantant          son  aile    au  soleil ;  Nc  dora 


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plus,  mon  coeur,       car   la     vl-o-let    -    te    £-leve    a    Dieul'en. 


* 


^ 


^^ 


158  MODESTE  MIGNON 


-  cens  de    son   rfi-veil. 


Chaque  fleur      vi   -  van  -  te  et 


bien    re  -  po  -  see,   Ou-vrant  tour  &     tour     les      yeux      pour 


^B3|pfT^fSff=p|f^B 


voir,     A     dans  son  ca  -  h  -  ce  un  peu  de  ro  -  s6    -   e,   Per  -  le  d'un 


jour     qui  lui    sert        de   mi-roir.     On   sent  dans  Tair  pur     que 


MODESTE  MIGNON 


159 


l'an-ge  des  ro-ses   A    pas -86    la  nuit  &    b6  -  nir    lesfleurejOn 


—  1  -- 


f 


voit  que  pour  lui  tou-tes  soiit    6  -  closes.  II  vient  d'en  haut  ra  -  vi  - 


-  ver  leure  cou-leure.     Ain-si,      Ifc-ve-toi,          puisque   1'a-louet  - 


t=f^=F* 


3£ 


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•  te  So  -couc  en  chantant  son  aile      au   so  -  leil ;          Bien  ne  dort 


1 


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160 


MODESTE  MIGNON 


plus,  mou  coeur !   la   vi  -  o  -  let     -      te    E  -  live  &      JDieu     Ten- 


r^ 


j: j- 


PP 


1 


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-  cens    de  son  rS  -  veil.  Eien  ne  dort    plus,  mon  coeur  !  la  vi  -  o  - 


-  lette         -  leve        it         Dieu       Ten  -  cens    de  son  r6  -  veil. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  I6l 

The  art  of  typography  permits  the  reproduction 
of  Modeste's  music,  but  the  tender  expression  which 
she  communicated  to  it,  produced  that  charm  so 
greatly  admired  in  the  songs  of  great  artists,  which 
no  typography,  hieroglyphic  or  phonetic,  can  render. 

"That  is  pretty,"  said  Madame  Dumay.  "Mo- 
deste  is  a  true  musician." 

"She  is  possessed  of  a  devil,"  exclaimed  the 
cashier,  into  whose  heart  the  mother's  suspicion 
entered,  making  him  shudder. 

"She  loves,"  repeated  Madame  Mignon. 

Madame  Mignon  had  succeeded,  through  the  un- 
questionable testimony  of  this  melody,  in  making 
the  cashier  share  her  certainty  of  Modeste's  hidden 
love  and  had  thus  disturbed  the  joy  which  the  return 
and  success  of  his  master  caused  him.  The  poor 
Breton  went  into  Havre  to  return  to  his  work  at 
Gobenheim's;  then  before  returning  to  dinner,  he 
went  to  see  the  Latournelles  to  tell  them  his  fears, 
and  again  ask  their  aid  and  assistance. 

"Yes,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Dumay  on  the  door- 
steps, as  he  left  the  lawyer,  "I  am  of  the  same 
opinion  as  madame.  She  is  in  love,  that  is  certain, 
and  the  devil  knows  the  rest!  You  behold  me  dis- 
graced!" 

"Don't  be  disconsolate,  Dumay,"  said  the  little 
lawyer.  "All  of  us,  together,  are  surely  as  strong 
as  that  little  person,  and  give  them  time  enough 
and  every  girl  in  love  commits  some  imprudence 
which  betrays  her.  But  we  will  talk  about  it  this 
evening." 
ii 


1 62  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Thus,  everyone  devoted  to  the  Mignon  family 
was  a  prey  to  the  same  anxieties  which  had  pained 
them  the  previous  evening,  before  the  experiment 
which  the  old  soldier  had  believed  would  be  deci- 
sive. The  futility  of  so  much  effort  piqued  the  con- 
science of  Dumay  so  greatly,  that  he  did  not  wish  to 
go  to  Paris  for  his  money  until  he  had  unriddled 
the  key  to  this  enigma.  Those  hearts  to  whom  sen- 
timents were  more  precious  than  interests,  all  felt, 
at  this  moment,  that  without  the  assurance  of  the 
absolute  innocence  of  his  daughter,  the  colonel 
would  die  of  sorrow  to  find  Bettina  dead  and  his 
wife  blind.  The  despair  of  poor  Dumay  made  such 
an  impression  upon  the  Latournelles,  that  it  caused 
them  to  forget  the  departure  of  Exupere,  who  that 
morning  had  started  off  for  Paris.  During  the  din- 
ner-hour, when  they  were  alone,  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Latournelle  and  Butscha  turned  this  prob- 
lem on  all  sides,  in  discussing  every  possible  sup- 
position. 

"If  Modeste  loved  anyone  at  Havre,  she  would 
have  trembled  last  evening,"  said  Madame  Latour- 
nelle. "Her  lover,  then,  is  somewhere  else." 

"She  vowed  this  morning,"  said  the  lawyer, 
"to  her  mother  and  before  Dumay,  that  she  has 
exchanged  neither  look  nor  word  with  a  living 
soul—" 

"She  loves  then  as  I  do?"  said  Butscha. 

"And  how  do  you  love,  my  poor  boy?"  asked 
Madame  Latournelle. 

"Madame,"  replied  the  little  hunchback,  "I  love 


MODESTE  MIGNON  163 

for  myself  all  alone,  at  a  distance  almost  as  great 
as  from  here  to  the  stars — " 

"And  how  do  you  do  it,  you  big  stupid?"  asked 
Madame  Latournelle,  smiling. 

"Ah,  madame,"  replied  Butscha,  "that  which 
you  think  a  hump  is  the  case  for  my  wings!" 

"That  then  is  the  explanation  of  your  seal !"  ex- 
claimed the  lawyer. 

The  clerk's  seal  was  a  star  under  which  were 
these  words :  Fulgens,  sequar, — Shining  One,  I  fol- 
low thee, — the  device  of  the  house  of  Chastillonest 

"A  beautiful  creature  can  have  as  much  mistrust 
as  the  ugliest,"  said  Butscha,  as  if  he  were  talking 
to  himself.  "Modeste  is  intelligent  enough  to  fear 
being  loved  only  for  her  beauty." 

Hunchbacks  are  wonderful  creations  entirely  due, 
moreover,  to  society,  for  in  Nature's  plan,  weak, 
deformed  beings  ought  to  perish.  In  these  men, 
apparently  so  unfortunate,  the  curvature  or  the 
twisting  of  the  vertebral  column  acts  as  a  centre  in 
which  the  nervous  fluids  are  accumulated  in  far 
greater  quantities  than  in  other  people,  and  forms  a 
reservoir  where  the  fluids  purify  themselves  and 
work,  and  from  whence  they  radiate,  like  a  ray  of 
light,  to  animate  the  interior  nature.  From  them 
there  result  forces,  which  though  sometimes  dis- 
covered by  magnetism,  oftener  lose  themselves 
across  the  spaces  of  the  spiritual  world.  In  vain 
you  seek  a  hunchback  who  is  not  gifted  with  some 
superior  faculty,  either  of  an  intelligent  cleverness, 
an  entire  wickedness,  or  a  sublime  goodness.  Like 


164  MODESTE  MIGNON 

instruments  which  the  hand  of  Art  will  never  fully 
awaken,  these  beings,  privileged  without  knowing 
it,  live  in  themselves,  as  Butscha  did,  when  they 
have  not  destroyed  their  forces,  so  magnificently 
concentrated,  in  the  struggle  which  they  have 
maintained,  against  fearful  odds,  to  keep  alive. 
Thus  may  be  explained  those  superstitions,  those 
popular  traditions,  to  which  we  owe  the  gnomes,  the 
terrifying  dwarfs,  the  deformed  fairies, — all  that 
race  of  bottles,  as  Rabelais  said,  containing  elixirs 
and  rare  balms.  Thus  Butscha  almost  divined 
Modeste.  And  with  his  curiosity  of  a  lover  without 
hope,  of  a  servant  always  ready  to  die,  like  those 
soldiers  who,  alone  and  abandoned,  cried  out  in  the 
snows  of  Russia,  "Long  live  the  Emperor!"  he  de- 
termined, for  himself  alone,  to  detect  Modeste's 
secret.  He  followed  his  protectors  when  they  went 
to  the  Chalet,  with  a  profoundly  thoughtful  air,  for 
he  intended  to  hide  from  all  these  attentive  eyes, 
all  these  open  ears,  the  snare  in  which  he  would 
catch  the  young  girl.  It  must  be  a  look  exchanged, 
some  surprised  agitation,  as  when  a  surgeon  puts 
his  finger  upon  a  hidden  sore.  That  evening,  Go- 
benheim  did  not  come  and  Butscha  was  Monsieur 
Dumay's  partner  against  Monsieur  and  Madame  La- 
tournelle.  During  the  time  when  Modeste  was 
absent,  about  nine  o'clock,  when  she  was  prepar- 
ing her  mother's  bed,  Madame  Mignon  and  her 
friends  could  speak  openly.  But  the  poor  clerk, 
weighed  down  by  the  conviction  which  had  taken 
possession  of  him,  appeared  almost  as  much  of  a 


MODESTE  MIGNON  165 

stranger  to  this  debate  as  Gobenheim  had  the  even- 
ing before. 

"Well,  what  is  the  matter,  Butscha?"  exclaimed 
Madame  Latournelle,  astonished.  "One  would  say 
that  you  had  lost  your  last  friend — " 

Tears  sprang  into  the  eyes  of  the  child  who  had 
been  abandoned  by  a  Swedish  sailor,  and  whose 
mother  had  died  of  sorrow  in  the  hospital. 

"I  have  only  you  in  the  world,"  he  replied,  with 
a  trembling  voice,  "and  your  compassion  is  too  holy 
for  me  ever  to  lose  it,  for  I  will  never  be  unworthy 
of  your  goodness." 

This  reply  caused  an  equally  sensitive  cord  to 
vibrate  in  the  witnesses  of  this  scene, — that  of 
delicacy. 

"We  all  love  you,  Monsieur  Butscha,"  said  Ma- 
dame Mignon,  whose  voice  quivered  with  emotion. 

"I  have  six  hundred  thousand  francs  of  my  own!" 
said  the  good  Dumay.  "You  shall  be  a  lawyer  at 
Havre,  and  the  successor  of  Latournelle." 

The  American  lady  had  taken  the  poor  hunch- 
back's hand  and  pressed  it 

"You  have  six  hundred  thousand  francs!"  ex- 
claimed Latournelle,  who  was  looking  in  astonish- 
ment at  Dumay  ever  since  this  speech  had  escaped 
him,  "and  you  leave  these  ladies  here! — And 
Modeste  has  no  fine  horse !  And  she  has  not  con- 
tinued to  have  her  masters  of  music,  of  painting, 
and—" 

"Oh!  he  only  had  them  a  few  hours  ago!"  ex- 
claimed the  American  lady. 


1 66  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Hush!"  said  Madame  Mignon. 

During  these  exclamations,  the  august  friend 
Butscha  had  posed  herself  and  looked  at  him. 

"My  child, "she  said,  "I  believed  you  surrounded 
by  so  much  affection  that  I  did  not  think  of  the 
exact  meaning  of  this  proverbial  form  of  speech; 
but  you  should  thank  me  for  this  little  fault,  for  it 
has  served  to  prove  to  you  what  friends  your  fine 
qualties  have  won  for  you." 

"Then  you  have  had  news  of  Monsieur  Mignon  ?" 
asked  the  lawyer. 

"He  is  returning,"  said  Madame  Mignon,  "but 
let  us  keep  the  secret  among  us.  When  my  husband 
knows  that  Butscha  has  kept  us  company,  that  he 
has  shown  the  keenest  and  most  disinterested  friend- 
ship, when  all  the  world  turned  its  back,  he  will 
not  allow  you  alone,  Dumay,  to  reward  him.  So 
my  friend,"  she  said,  turning  her  face  toward  But- 
scha, "you  can  immediately  negotiate  with  Latour- 
nelle— " 

"Yes,  he  is  old  enough;  twenty-five  and  a  half," 
said  Latournelle,  "and  for  myself,  it  would  be  to 
acquit  myself  of  a  debt,  my  boy,  to  facilitate  you 
in  acquiring  my  practice." 

Butscha,  who  was  kissing  Madame  Mignon's 
hand  while  bedewing  it  with  tears,  showed  his 
moistened  face  as  Modeste  opened  the  parlor  door. 

"Who,  then,  has  wounded  my  Black  Dwarf?"  she 
asked. 

"Ah!  Mademoiselle  Modeste,  do  we  ever  weep 
for  grief,  we  children  cradled  by  misfortune?  I 


MODESTE  MIGNON  167 

have  just  been  shown  so  much  attachment,  that  I 
feel  it  in  the  depths  of  my  heart  for  all  those  in 
whom  I  am  pleased  to  see  relations.  I  will  be  a 
lawyer,  I  may  become  rich.  Ah!  Ah!  the  poor 
Butscha  will  one  day  be,  perhaps,  the  rich  Butscha. 
You  do  not  know  all  the  audacity  which  there  is  in 
this  abortive  child! — "  he  cried  out 

The  hunchback  gave  himself  a  violent  blow  of 
the  fist  against  the  hollow  of  his  breast,  and  placed 
himself  before  the  fireplace,  after  having  thrown 
upon  Modeste  a  glance  which  darted  like  a  gleam  of 
light  from  between  his  heavy,  half-closed  eyelids; 
for  he  saw  in  this  unexpected  incident  the  possibility 
of  questioning  the  heart  of  his  sovereign.  Dumay 
thought,  for  an  instant,  that  the  clerk  had  dared 
to  offer  his  addresses  to  Modeste,  and  he  quickly 
exchanged  with  his  friends  a  glance  well  under- 
stood by  them,  and  which  caused  them  to  regard  the 
little  hunchback  with  a  kind  of  terror  mingled  with 
curiosity. 

"I  also  have  dreams,  myself!"  continued  But- 
scha, whose  eyes  did  not  leave  Modeste. 

The  young  girl  lowered  her  eyelids  by  a  move- 
ment, which  for  the  clerk  was  already  a  revelation. 

"You  love  romances.  Let  me  in  my  present  joy 
confide  my  secret  to  you,  and  you  will  tell  me  if  the 
end  of  the  romance,  invented  by  me  for  my  life,  is 
possible.  Otherwise,  for  what  good  is  my  fortune? 
For  me,  money  is  a  happiness  more  than  for  all 
others,  because  it  will  be  happiness  for  me  to  enrich 
a  beloved  one!  You,  mademoiselle,  who  know  so 


168  MODESTE  MIGNON 

many  things,  tell  me  then,  if  one  can  make  himself 
loved,  independently  of  the  form,  beautiful  or  ugly, 
for  his  soul  alone?" 

Modeste  raised  her  eyes  to  Butscha.  This  was  a 
terrible  interrogation,  for  then  Modeste  partook  of 
Dumay's  suspicions. 

"Once  rich,  I  will  seek  some  beautiful,  poor, 
young  girl,  someone  abandoned  like  myself,  who  has 
suffered  much,  who  is  unfortunate;  I  will  write  to 
her,  I  will  console  her ;  I  will  be  her  good  genius. 
She  will  read  in  my  heart,  in  my  soul ;  she  shall 
have  my  double  wealth;  my  gold,  delicately  offered, 
and  my  thoughts,  adorned  with  all  the  splendor 
which  chance  at  my  birth  refused  to  my  grotesque 
person !  I  shall  remain  hidden  like  the  cause  which 
scientists  seek.  Perhaps  God  is  not  handsome. — 
Naturally,  this  girl  becoming  curious,  will  wish  to 
see  me;  but  I  will  tell  her  that  I  am  a  monster  of 
ugliness;  I  will  paint  myself  so  ugly — " 

Here,  Modeste  regarded  Butscha  steadfastly,  and 
had  she  said  to  him,  "What  do  you  know  about  my 
love  affair?" — she  could  not  have  been  more 
explicit. 

"If  I  have  the  honor  to  be  loved  for  the  poetry  of 
my  heart!  If  some  day  I  should  appear  to  this 
woman  to  be  only  a  little  deformed,  confess  that  I 
shall  be  more  happy  than  the  handsomest  of  men, 
— a  man  of  genius  beloved  by  a  creature  as  heav- 
enly as  you, — " 

The  blush  which  colored  Modeste's  face  told  the 
hunchback  almost  all  of  the  young  girl's  secret. 


M.  BUTSCHA   AND   THE  POSTMAN 


"Have  you  a  letter  to-day  for  Mademoiselle 
Modestc  ?  "  he  asked  this  humble  functionary,  ivhen 
he  saw  him  coming. 

"No,  sir,  no — " 

"For  some  time  we  have  been  good  customers  for 
the  postofficc  !  "  exclaimed  the  clerk. 

"All!  indeed, yes!"  replied  the  postman. 

Modeste  saw  and  heard  this  little  conversation. 


;, 


•      ;. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  169 

"Well,  to  enrich  her  whom  one  loves,  and  to 
please  her  morally,  without  taking  account  of  one's 
person,  is  not  that  a  means  to  being  loved  ?  That 
is  the  dream  of  the  poor  hunchback,  the  dream  of 
yesterday,  for  to-day  your  adorable  mother  has  just 
given  me  the  key  to  my  future  treasure  in  promis- 
ing to  facilitate  for  me  the  means  to  purchase  a  law- 
yer's practice.  But  before  becoming  a  Gobenheim, 
it  is  necessary  to  know,  first,  if  this  terrible  trans- 
formation is  expedient  What  do  you  think  of  it 
yourself,  mademoiselle?" 

Modeste  was  so  surprised  that  she  did  not  notice 
that  Butscha  appealed  to  her.  The  lover's  snare 
was  better  arranged  than  that  of  the  soldier,  for  the 
poor  stupefied  girl  remained  speechless, 

"Poor  Butscha!"  said  Madame  Latournelle,  in  a 
low  voice  to  her  husband.  "Is  he  growing  foolish  ?" 

"You  wish  to  make  real  the  story  of  Beauty  and 
the  Beast,"  replied  Modeste  at  last,  "and  you  forget 
that  the  Beast  changes  himself  into  the  Prince 
Charming." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  the  dwarf.  "I  myself 
have  always  imagined  that  this  change  indicated 
the  phenomenon  of  the  soul  rendered  visible,  obliter- 
ating the  form  under  its  radiant  light  If  I  am  not 
loved,  I  shall  remain  hidden ;  that  is  all !  You  and 
yours,  madame,"  he  said  to  his  protectress,  "in- 
stead of  having  a  dwarf  at  your  service,  will  have 
a  life  and  a  fortune." 

Butscha  returned  to  his  place,  affecting  the  great- 
est calmness,  and  said  to  the  three  players: 


170  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Whose  deal?"  But  to  himself,  he  said  most 
sorrowfully,  "she  wishes  to  be  loved  for  herself; 
she  is  corresponding  with  some  deceitful  great  man, 
and  how  far  has  it  gone?" 

"My  dear  mamma,  it  has  just  struck  a  quarter  of 
ten,"  said  Modeste  to  her  mother.  Madame  Mignon 
said  good-night  to  her  friends,  and  retired. 

Those  who  desire  to  love  in  secret  may  have  for 
spies,  Pyrenese  dogs,  mothers,  Dumays  and  Latour- 
nelles, — they  are  in  no  danger.  But  a  lover  ? — That 
is  diamond  cut  diamond;  fire  against  fire;  intelli- 
gence against  intelligence ;  a  perfect  equation  whose 
terms  are  reciprocal. 

On  Sunday  morning,  Butscha  preceded  his  patron- 
ess, who  called  always  to  take  Modeste  to  mass, 
and  stationed  himself  at  the  intersection  of  the 
roads  before  the  Chalet,  to  await  the  postman. 

"Have  you  a  letter  to-day  for  Mademoiselle 
Modeste?"  he  asked  this  humble  functionary,  when 
he  saw  him  coming. 

"No,  sir,  no—" 

"For  some  time  we  have  been  good  customers  for 
the  postoffice!"  exclaimed  the  clerk. 

"Ah!  indeed,  yes!"  replied  the  postman. 

Modeste  saw  and  heard  this  little  conversation 
from  her  chamber,  where  she  placed  herself  always 
at  this  hour  behind  her  blind  to  watch  for  the  post- 
man. She  descended,  went  into  the  little  garden, 
where  in  a  changed  voice,  she  called  out: 

"Monsieur  Butscha!" 

"Here  I  am,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  hunchback, 


MODESTE  MIGNON  171 

as  he  came  to  the  little  gate  which  Modeste  opened 
herself. 

"Will  you  tell  me  if  you  count  among  your  titles 
to  the  affection  of  a  woman,  the  shameful  spying  to 
which  you  have  yielded  yourself?"  asked  the  young 
girl,  endeavoring  to  confound  her  slave  with  her 
glance  and  by  her  queenly  attitude. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle!"  he  replied,  proudly.  "Ah! 
I  did  not  believe,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "that  a 
worm  could  render  a  service  to  a  star ! — But  so  it  is. 
Would  you  wish  that  your  mother,  that  Monsieur 
Dumay  or  that  Madame  Latournelle  should  have 
found  you  out,  and  not  a  creature,  almost  an  outcast 
from  life,  who  gives  himself  to  you,  like  one  of  the 
flowers  which  you  cut  to  use  for  a  moment?  They 
all  know  that  you  love;  but  I  alone  know  how. 
Take  me  as  you  would  a  faithful  dog;  I  will  obey 
you;  I  will  protect  you.  I  will  never  bark,  and  I 
will  not  judge.  I  ask  you  only  to  allow  me,  in 
some  way,  to  be  useful  to  you.  Your  father  has 
placed  a  Dumay  in  your  menagerie ;  have  a  Butscha, 
you  will  tell  me  about  it! — A  poor  Butscha,  who 
asks  nothing;  not  even  a  bone!" 

"Well,  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  trial,"  said 
Modeste,  who  wished  to  get  rid  of  such  an  intelli- 
gent guardian.  "Go  at  once  from  hotel  to  hotel  in 

o  o 

Graville,  in  Havre,  to  ascertain  if  a  Monsieur 
Arthur  has  arrived  from  England — " 

"Listen,  mademoiselle,"  said  Butscha,  respect- 
fully interrupting  Modeste.  "I  will  go  most  will- 
ingly to  walk  on  the  beach,  and  that  will  suffice, 


172  MODESTE  MIGNON 

for  you  do  not  wish  me  to  be  at  church  to-day, 
that's  all." 

Modeste  looked  at  the  dwarf  with  an  air  of  stupid 
surprise. 

"Listen,  mademoiselle!  Although  you  have 
bound  up  your  cheeks  with  cotton  batting  and  a  silk 
handkerchief,  you  have  no  cold, — and  if  you  are 
wearing  a  double  veil  upon  your  hat,  it  is  to  see 
without  being  seen." 

"How  do  you  possess  so  much  penetration?" 
exclaimed  Modeste,  blushing. 

"Ah!  mademoiselle,  you  have  no  corsets  on!  An 
inflammation  does  not  oblige  you  to  disguise  your 
figure  by  wearing  several  skirts,  hiding  your  hands 
in  old  gloves,  and  your  pretty  feet  in  hideous  shoes, 
in  dressing  yourself  badly,  in — " 

"Enough!"  she  said.  "Now,  how  am  I  sure  to 
be  obeyed?" 

"My  master  has  to  go  to  Sainte-Adresse.  He  is 
put  out  about  it,  but  as  he  is  usually  good-natured, 
he  did  not  wish  to  deprive  me  of  my  Sunday.  Well, 
I  will  propose  to  go  there  for  him — " 

"Go  there,  and  I  shall  have  confidence  in  you — " 

"Are  you  sure  of  not  needing  me  in  Havre?" 

"No.  Listen,  mysterious  dwarf,  look,"  she  said, 
pointing  to  the  sky  without  a  cloud.  "Do  you  see 
any  trace  of  the  bird  which  has  just  flown  by? 
Well,  my  deeds,  pure  as  the  air,  will  leave  no  more. 
Reassure  Dumay;  reassure  the  Latournelles;  reas- 
sure my  mother  and  remember  that  this  hand,"  she 
said,  showing  him  a  fine,  pretty  hand,  with  pink 


MODESTE  MIGNON  173 

tapering  fingers  which  were  transparent,  "will 
never  be  given,  it  will  never  even  be  touched  by  a 
kiss  from  anyone  who  may  be  called  a  lover,  before 
my  father's  return." 

"But  why  do  you  not  wish  me  at  church  to-day?" 

"You  question  me  after  what  I  have  done  you  the 
honor  to  tell  you,  and  to  ask  you?" 

Butscha  saluted  her  without  replying  a  word,  and 
ran  home  in  raptures  at  having  entered  the  service 
of  his  unrecognized  mistress. 

An  hour  later,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Latournelle 
came  for  Modeste,  who  complained  of  a  terrible 
toothache. 

"I  have  not  had,"  she  said,  "the  courage  to  dress 
myself." 

"Well,  do  stay  at  home,"  replied  the  lawyer's 
wife. 

"Oh!  no.  I  wish  to  pray  for  my  father's  happy 
return,"  replied  Modeste,  "and  I  thought,  if  I 
wrapped  myself  up  in  this  way,  going  out  would  do 
me  more  good  than  harm." 

And  Mademoiselle  Mignon  went  alone  by  the  side 
of  Latournelle.  She  refused  to  give  her  arm  to  her 
escort,  fearing  to  be  questioned  about  the  inward 
trembling  which  agitated  her  at  the  thought  of  soon 
seeing  her  grand  poet  One  look  alone,  the  first, — 
was  it  not  going  to  decide  her  future? 


Is  there  in  the  life  of  man  an  hour  more  delicious 
than  that  of  the  first  rendezvous  ?  Are  the  sensa- 
tions hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  heart,  which  then 
bloom  forth,  ever  again  repeated?  Does  one  ever 
find  again  the  nameless  pleasure  that  one  tastes  in 
seeking,  as  did  Ernest  de  la  Briere,  his  best  razors, 
his  finest  shirts,  his  irreproachable  collars,  and  his 
most  careful  attire?  The  things  associated  with 
that  hour  become  deified.  He  makes  to  himself 
alone,  secret  poetry  which  is  worthy  of  a  woman, 
and  on  the  day  when  another  guesses  it,  it  all  takes 
flight!  Is  it  not  like  the  flowers  of  wild  fruits,  bit- 
ter and  fragrant  at  the  same  time,  the  joy  of  the 
sun,  no  doubt,  but  lost  in  the  forest's  bosom ;  or,  as 
Canal  is  says  in  The  Maiden's  Song,  the  joy  of  the 
plant  itself,  whose  own  image  the  angel  of  the 
flowers  has  permitted  it  to  see  ?  This  reminds  us 
that,  like  many  another  poor  creature,  for  whom  life 
commenced  with  labor  and  the  cares  of  fortune,  the 
modest  La  Briere  had  never  yet  been  loved.  Having 
arrived  the  night  before,  he  had  gone  to  bed  at  once 
like  a  coquettish  girl,  in  order  to  efface  the  fatigue 
of  the  journey,  and  he  had  just  made  a  toilet,  pre- 
meditated to  his  advantage,  after  having  taken  a 
bath.  Here,  perhaps,  is  the  place  to  give  his  full- 
length  portrait,  if  only  to  justify  the  last  letter 
which  Modeste  was  to  write  him. 
(175) 


176  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Born  of  a  good  family  at  Toulouse,  distantly 
allied  to  that  of  the  minister  who  had  taken  him 
under  his  protection,  Ernest  possessed  that  distin- 
guished air  which  an  education  begun  in  the  cradle 
reveals,  to  which  business  habits  had  given  a  cer- 
tain sedateness,  but  without  pedantry,  which  is  the 
danger  of  all  premature  gravity.  Of  an  ordinary 
height,  he  was  noticeable  for  a  refined,  gentle  face, 
of  warm  coloring  without  being  florid,  and  which  he 
accentuated  by  a  small  moustache  and  a  goatee,  a  la 
Mazarin.  Without  this  manly  certificate,  perhaps 
he  would  have  resembled  too  much  a  young  girl  in 
disguise,  as  the  shape  of  his  face  and  lips  was  so 
delicate,  and  his  teeth  of  such  transparent  enamel 
and  of  such  regularity,  that  they  would  have  been 
easily  attributed  to  a  woman.  Add  to  these  femi- 
nine qualities  a  voice  as  gentle  as  his  face  was  deli- 
cate, as  gentle  as  were  his  blue  eyes  with  their 
drooping  eyelids  like  those  of  an  oriental,  and  you 
will  easily  conceive  why  the  minister  had  nick- 
named his  young  private  secretary  "Mademoiselle 
de  la  Briere."  The  pure,  full  forehead,  well-framed 
with  abundant  black  hair,  seemed  that  of  a  dreamer 
and  did  not  belie  the  expression  of  the  face  which 
was  thoroughly  melancholy.  The  prominent  arch 
of  the  upper  eyelid,  although  very  elegantly  cut, 
shaded  his  glance  and  added  still  more  to  that  mel- 
ancholy, by  a  physical  sadness,  so  to  speak,  which 
is  produced  by  eyelids  when  they  are  much  lowered 
over  the  eyes.  That  innate  doubt  which  we  trans- 
late by  the  word  "modesty,"  animated  both  his 


MODESTE  MIGNON  177 

features  and  his  person.  Perhaps  his  appearance 
will  be  better  understood,  if  we  make  the  observa- 
tion that  the  harmony  of  his  features  required  more 
length  in  the  oval  of  his  head,  more  space  between 
the  chin,  which  ended  abruptly,  and  the  forehead  too 
much  shortened  by  the  manner  in  which  his  hair 
grew;  therefore  his  face  seemed  short.  Work  had 
already  made  its  furrows  between  his  eyebrows, 
which  were  a  little  too  abundant  and  close  together, 
like  those  of  jealous  persons.  Although  La  Briere 
was  then  slender,  he  belonged  to  that  sort  of  tem- 
perament which  develops  late,  and  unexpectedly 
becomes  stout  after  thirty  years  of  age. 

For  those  to  whom  the  history  of  France  is 
familiar,  this  young  man  would  have  represented 
well  enough  the  royal  and  incomprehensible  person- 
ality of  Louis  XIII.,  with  its  melancholy  modesty, 
without  any  known  cause,  pale  under  its  crown, 
loving  the  fatigues  of  hunting,  but  hating  work, 
timid  with  his  mistress  even  to  the  point  of  keeping 
away  from  her,  indifferent  even  to  allowing  his 
friend  to  be  beheaded,  and  which  can  only  be  ex- 
plained by  the  remorse  of  having  avenged  his  father 
upon  his  mother.  Was  he  a  Catholic  Hamlet,  or 
the  victim  of  some  incurable  malady?  But  the 
gnawing  worm  which  caused  Louis  XIII.  to  grow 
pale  and  weakened  his  strength,  was  in  Ernest, 
simple  mistrust  of  himself;  the  timidity  of  the 
man  to  whom  no  woman  had  said,  "How  I  love 
you!"  and,  above  all,  his  useless  devotion.  After 
having  heard  the  knell  of  a  monarchy  in  the  fall  of 

12 


178  MODESTE  MIGNON 

a  ministry,  this  poor  fellow  had  found,  in  Canalis, 
a  rock  hidden  under  beautiful  mosses,  and  he  sought 
then  a  power  to  love;  and  that  impatience  of  a  dog 
seeking  a  master  gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  king 
who  had  found  his  own.  These  shadows,  these 
sentiments,  this  tinge  of  suffering  diffused  over  his 
face,  made  it  much  more  beautiful  than  he  himself 
believed  it,  angry,  as  he  was,  to  hear  himself 
classed  by  the  women  among  the  "melancholy 
beaus;"  a  genus  out  of  fashion  at  a  time  in  which 
everyone  wishes  to  blow  his  own  trumpet 

The  distrustful  Ernest  had,  therefore,  sought  all 
the  prestige  which  the  clothes  then  fashionable 
could  give.  He  wore  for  this  interview,  when 
everything  depended  upon  the  first  glance,  black 
trousers  and  carefully  polished  boots;  a  sulphur- 
colored  waistcoat,  which  permitted  the  view  of  a 
shirt  of  wonderful  fineness,  ornamented  with  opal 
studs;  a  black  cravat,  a  short  blue  frock-coat,  which 
seemed  to  be  glued  to  his  back  and  shoulders  by 
some  new  process,  and  which  was  ornamented  with 
a  rosette.  Wearing  fine  Florentine  bronze-colored 
kid  gloves,  he  held  in  his  left  hand  with  a  gesture 
quite  a  la  Louis  XIV.,  a  little  cane  and  his  hat,  thus 
revealing,  as  the  place  demanded,  his  carefully 
arranged  hair,  which  the  light  made  as  brilliant  as 
satin.  Stationed  under  the  portico  from  the  com- 
mencement of  the  mass,  he  examined  the  church, 
looking  at  all  the  religious  men,  but  more  especially 
at  the  religious  women,  who  dipped  their  fingers  in 
the  holy  water. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  179 

An  inner  voice  cried  out,  "there  he  is"  to  Mo- 
deste,  when  she  arrived.  That  coat  and  this  make- 
up, essentially  Parisian,  that  rosette,  those  gloves, 
that  cane,  the  perfume  of  the  hair — none  of  them 
belonged  to  Havre.  Therefore  when  La  Briere 
turned  to  look  at  the  tall  and  proud  wife  of  the  law- 
yer, the  little  lawyer  and  the  bundle  of  clothes — an 
expression  usual  among  women — under  which  guise 
Modeste  had  put  herself,  the  poor  child,  although  well 
prepared,  suffered  a  violent  disturbance  of  her  heart 
on  seeing  this  poetical  face  illumined  by  the  day- 
light through  the  doorway.  She  could  not  be  de- 
ceived; a  little  white  rose  almost  hid  the  rosette. 
Would  Ernest  recognize  his  unknown  love  dressed 
in  an  old  hat  and  a  double  veil  ? — Modeste  feared  the 
clear-sightedness  of  love  so  much  that  she  walked 
like  an  old  woman. 

"My  wife,"  said  the  little  Latournelle,  as  he 
walked  to  his  place,  "that  gentleman  is  not  from 
Havre." 

"So  many  strangers  come  here!"  replied  the 
wife. 

"But  do  strangers  ever  come  to  see  our  church, 
which  is  only  two  hundred  years  old?"  asked  the 
lawyer. 

Ernest  remained  at  the  door  throughout  the  mass, 
without  having  seen  anyone  among  the  women  who 
realized  his  hopes.  Modeste  was  not  able  to  master 
her  agitation  until  the  close  of  the  service.  She 
experienced  the  joys  which  she  alone  could  depict 
At  last  she  heard  upon  the  flag-stones  the  footsteps 


180  MODESTE  MIGNON 

of  a  gentlemanly  man,  for  the  mass  being  ended, 
Ernest  was  making  the  rounds  of  the  church,  where 
there  were  to  be  seen  only  the  especially  pious, 
who  became  the  object  of  a  learned  and  careful 
analysis.  Ernest  noticed  the  excessive  trembling 
of  the  prayer  book  in  the  hands  of  the  veiled  woman 
as  she  passed  him,  and  as  she  was  the  only  one  who 
hid  her  face,  he  had  his  suspicions,  which  were 
confirmed  by  Modeste's  make-up,  studied  as  it  was 
with  the  care  of  a  curious  lover.  He  went  out  when 
Madame  Latournelle  left  the  church;  he  followed  her 
at  a  proper  distance  and  saw  her  enter  the  Rue 
Royal e  with  Modeste,  where,  according  to  her  cus- 
tom, Mademoiselle  Mignon  waited  for  vespers. 
After  having  eyed  from  top  to  bottom  the  house 
with  escutcheons,  Ernest  asked  the  name  of  the 
lawyer  of  a  passer-by,  who  called  him  with  pride 
"Monsieur  Latournelle,  the  first  lawyer  of  Havre." 
— As  he  went  along  the  Rue  Royale  attempting  to 
look  into  the  interior  of  the  house,  Modeste  noticed 
her  lover,  and  said  that  she  was  too  ill  to  go  to  ves- 
pers and  Madame  Latournelle  remained  with  her. 
Therefore,  poor  Ernest  had  had  his  journey  for 
nothing.  He  dared  not  dawdle  about  Ingouville, 
but  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to  obey,  and  returned 
to  Paris  after  having  written,  while  waiting  for  the 
coach  to  start,  a  letter  which  Francoise  Cochet  was 
to  receive  the  next  day,  post-marked  Havre. 

Every  Sunday,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Latournelle 
dined  at  the  Chalet  where  they  went  with  Modeste 
after  vespers.  Therefore,  as  soon  as  the  sick  girl 


MODESTE  MIGNON  181 

was  better,  they  went  up  to  Ingouville  accompanied 
by  Butscha.  Happy  Modeste  made  a  charming 
toilet.  As  she  came  down  for  dinner,  she  forgot 
her  disguise  of  the  morning,  her  assumed  suffering 
and  hummed : — 

"  Sleep  not !    From  violet's  dewy  couch  and  dark, 
Sweet  incense  rises  for  the  day  begun." 

Butscha  felt  a  slight  thrill  at  Modeste's  appear- 
ance, she  seemed  so  changed;  for  Cupid's  wings 
were  as  if  attached  to  her  shoulders.  She  had  the 
appearance  of  a  sylph,  and  her  cheeks  had  the 
heavenly  color  of  joy. 

"By  whom  then  are  the  words  to  which  you  have 
composed  such  pretty  music?"  asked  Madame 
Mignon  of  her  daughter. 

"By  Canal  is,  mama,"  she  replied,  becoming, 
at  that  instant,  the  loveliest  crimson  from  her  neck 
to  her  forehead. 

"Canalis!"  exclaimed  the  dwarf,  to  whom  Mo- 
deste's accent  and  her  blush  showed  him  the  only 
thing  about  the  secret  of  which  he  was  ignorant 
"He,  the  great  poet,  the  maker  of  romances?" — 

"They  are,"  she  said,  "only  simple  verses  to 
which  I  have  dared  apply  some  memories  of  Ger- 
man melodies — " 

"No,  no,"  replied  Madame  Mignon,  "that  is  your 
own  music,  my  child!" 

Modeste,  feeling  herself  grow  more  and  more 
crimson,  went  into  the  little  garden,  dragging  But- 
scha with  her. 


1 82  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"You  can,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "render  me 
a  great  service.  Dumay  is  very  close-mouthed 
with  my  mother  and  me  about  the  fortune  which 
my  father  is  bringing  home.  I  wish  to  know  what 
it  is.  Has  not  Dumay,  since  he  left,  sent  five 
hundred  and  some  thousand  francs  to  papa?  My 
father  is  not  the  man  to  absent  himself  for  four 
years,  only  to  double  his  capital.  Now,  he  is  re- 
turning upon  his  own  vessel  and  the  portion  which 
he  has  given  to  Dumay  amounts  to  nearly  six  hun- 
dred thousand  francs." 

"It  is  not  worth  while  to  question  Dumay,"  said 
Butscha.  "Your  father  had  lost,  as  you  know,  four 
millions  at  the  time  of  his  departure,  and  without 
doubt  he  has  regained  them ;  but  he  ought  to  have 
given  Dumay  ten  per  cent  of  his  profits,  and  from 
the  fortune  which  the  worthy  Breton  confesses  to 
have,  my  patron  and  I  suppose  that  that  of  the 
colonel  amounts  to  six  or  seven  millions — " 

"Oh,  my  father!"  said  Modeste,  crossing  her 
arms  upon  her  breast  and  raising  her  eyes  to 
Heaven,  "you  will  have  doubly  given  me  my 
life!—" 

"Ah!  mademoiselle,"  said  Butscha,  "you  love  a 
poet!  That  sort  of  man  is  more  or  less  of  a  Nar- 
cissus! Will  he  know  how  to  love  you  well?  A 
worker  of  phrases,  occupied  in  adjusting  words,  is 
very  wearisome.  A  poet,  mademoiselle,  is  no  more 
the  poetry  than  the  seed  is  the  flower." 

"Butscha,  I  have  never  seen  a  man  so  hand- 
some!" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  183 

"Beauty,  mademoiselle,  is  a  veil  which  serves 
oftentimes  to  hide  imperfections — " 

"His  heart  is  the  most  angelic  of  Heaven! — " 

"God  grant  that  you  are  right,"  said  the  dwarf, 
folding  his  hands,  "and  that  you  may  be  happy. 
This  man  shall  have,  like  yourself,  a  servant  in 
Jean  Butscha.  1  will  no  longer,  then,  be  a  lawyer. 
I  am  going  to  plunge  into  study,  into  the  sciences — " 

"And  wherefore? 

"Ah!  mademoiselle,  to  educate  your  children,  if 
you  deign  to  permit  me  to  be  their  tutor. — Ah !  if 
you  will  allow  a  council ! — Stop,  let  me  do  it.  I 
can  penetrate  into  the  life  and  morals  of  this  man, 
find  out  if  he  is  good,  if  he  is  high-tempered  or  gen- 
tle; if  he  possesses  the  respect  which  you  merit,  if 
he  is  capable  of  loving  absolutely,  preferring  you  to 
all  else,  even  to  his  talent — " 

"What  goodwill  that  do  if  I  love  him?"  she  said, 
archly. 

"Ah!  it  is  true,"  cried  the  hunchback. 

At  this  moment,  Madame  Mignon  was  saying  to 
her  friends: 

"This  morning  my  daughter  has  seen  him  whom 
she  loves." 

"It  must  be,  then,  that  sulphur-colored  waistcoat 
which  troubled  you  so  much,  Latournelle,"  ex- 
claimed the  lawyer's  wife.  "That  young  man  had 
a  pretty  little  white  rose  in  his  buttonhole." 

"Ah '"said  the  mother,  "the  sign  of  recognition." 

"He  had  the  rosette  of  an  officer  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor,"  said  the  lawyer's  wife.  "He  is  a 


1 84  MODESTE  MIGNON 

charming  man!  But  we  are  deceiving  ourselves! 
Modeste  did  not  raise  her  veil  and  she  was  dressed 
like  a  pauper  and — " 

"Eh!"  said  the  lawyer,  "she  said  she  was  ill, 
but  she  has  just  taken  off  her  disguise  and  is  as 
well  as  a  charm — " 

"It  is  incomprehensible!"  exclaimed  Dumay. 

"Ah!  It  is  as  clear  now  as  the  day!"  said  the 
lawyer. 

"My  child,"  said  Madame  Mignon  to  Modeste, 
who  entered  followed  by  Butscha,  "did  you  see  this 
morning  at  church  a  short  young  man,  well-dressed, 
who  wore  a  white  rose  in  his  buttonhole,  deco- 
rated—" 

"I  saw  him,"  said  Butscha,  quickly  seeing,  by 
every  one's  intense  attention,  that  Modeste  was 
likely  to  fall  into  a  trap,  "it  was  Grindot,  the 
famous  architect  with  whom  the  city  is  arranging 
for  the  restoration  of  the  church.  He  has  just  come 
from  Paris  and  I  found  him  this  morning  examining 
the  exterior  when  I  was  on  my  way  to  Sainte- 
Adresse. " 

"Ah!  so  he  is  an  architect. — He  puzzled  me  too, " 
said  Modeste  whom  the  dwarf  had  given  time  to 
compose  herself. 

Dumay  looked  askance  at  Butscha:  Modeste  had 
regained  her  impenetrable  composure.  Dumay's 
distrust  was  now  fully  aroused,  and  he  determined 
to  go  the  next  day  to  the  mayor  to  find  out  if  the 
expected  architect  had  really  showed  himself  in 
Havre.  On  the  other  hand  Butscha,  very  uneasy 


MODESTE  MIGNON  185 

for  Modeste's  future,  had  determined  to  go  to  Paris 
the  next  day  to  keep  watch  on  Canal  is. 

Gobenheim  came  to  play  whist  and  subdued  by 
his  presence  all  the  various  fermenting  feelings. 
Modeste  waited  impatiently  for  the  hour  of  her 
mother's  bedtime  to  arrive,  for  she  wished  to  write. 
She  only  wrote  at  night  and  here  is  the  letter  which 
her  love  dictated,  when  she  thought  that  everyone 
was  asleep. 

TO  MONSIEUR  DE  CANALIS 

Ah !  my  friend,  my  beloved !  what  atrocious  false- 
hoods your  portraits  in  the  shop-windows  are !  And 
I  made  that  horrible  lithograph  my  joy!  I  am 
humbled  at  the  thought  of  loving  so  handsome  a 
man.  No,  I  cannot  imagine  that  Parisian  women 
are  so  stupid  as  not  to  find  the  man  of  their  dreams 
in  you.  You  neglected!  You  unloved! — I  do  not 
believe  one  word  of  what  you  have  written  of  your 
obscure  and  laborious  life,  of  your  devotion  to  one 
idol,  sought  in  vain  until  now.  You  have  been  too 
much  loved,  monsieur;  your  brow,  white  and  smooth 
as  the  magnolia  flower,  tells  me  so  and  I  shall  be 
unhappy — for  what  am  I  now  ? — Ah !  why  was  I 
born !  I  felt  for  a  moment  that  this  burden  of  flesh 
was  leaving  me.  My  soul  had  broken  the  crystal 
which  held  it  captive,  it  coursed  in  my  veins!  The 
cold  silence  of  material  things  had  suddenly  ceased 
for  me  and  all  nature  spoke  to  me.  The  old  church 
seemed  luminous  to  me,  its  arched  roofs,  brilliant 


186  MODESTE  MIGNON 

with  gold  and  azure  as  those  of  an  Italian  Cathe- 
dral, sparkled  over  my  head.  Beautiful  melodies, 
such  as  the  angels  chanted  to  the  martyrs  to  make 
them  forget  their  sufferings,  accompanied  the  organ ! 
The  horribly  paved  streets  of  Havre  became  for  me 
a  flowery  way.  I  recognized,  in  the  sound  of  the 
sea,  the  voice  of  an  old  friend  full  of  sympathy  for 
me,  whose  language  I  had  not  understood.  I  saw 
clearly  how  the  roses  in  my  garden  and  my  conser- 
vatory had  adored  me  for  a  longtime  and  whispered 
to  me  of  love.  They  all  smiled  upon  me  on  my 
return  from  church  and  I  have  heard  your  name 
"Melchior"  murmured  by  the  flower-bells;  I  have 
read  it  inscribed  on  the  clouds!  Yes,  I  live,  thanks 
to  you!  poet  more  beautiful  than  that  cold,  impas- 
sive Lord  Byron  whose  face  is  as  dull  as  the  English 
climate.  We  are  wedded  by  one  of  your  Orient 
glances  which  pierced  my  black  veil  and  sent  your 
blood  to  my  heart.  It  made  me  burn  from  head  to 
foot!  Ah!  it  is  not  thus  that  we  feel  the  life  which 
our  mothers  give  us.  A  blow  to  you  would  strike 
me  at  the  same  moment,  I  exist  only  by  your 
thought.  I  understand  now  the  divine  harmony  of 
music,  it  was  invented  by  the  angels  to  express 
love.  To  have  both  genius  and  beauty,  my  Mel- 
chior,  is  too  much!  A  man  ought  to  be  compelled 
to  choose  between  them  at  birth.  When  I  think  of 
the  treasures  of  tenderness  and  love  which  you  have 
lavished  upon  me  for  the  past  month,  I  ask  myself 
if  I  am  dreaming.  You  conceal  some  mystery  from 
me!  What  woman  could  resign  you  and  live?  Ah! 


MODESTE  MIGNON  187 

jealousy  has  entered  into  my  heart  with  this  love  I 
did  not  foresee — Could  I  imagine  such  a  conflagra- 
tion? What  new  and  inconceivable  fantasy  pos- 
sesses me!  Now,  I  wish  that  you  were  ugly. 
What  follies  I  committed  when  I  came  home!  The 
yellow  dahlias  recalled  your  pretty  waistcoat,  the 
white  roses  were  my  friends  and  I  saluted  them 
with  a  glance  which  belonged  to  you  as  does  all  of 
me!  The  color  of  the  gloves  which  mould  the 
hands  of  my  noble  one,  the  sound  of  his  steps  on 
the  floor-tiles — all,  all  is  so  graven  on  my  memory 
that  sixty  years  hence  I  shall  be  able  to  recall  the 
least  thing  of  this  day — the  very  color  of  the  par- 
ticles of  air,  the  reflection  of  the  sun  which  danced 
on  a  pillar — I  shall  hear  the  prayer  which  your  step 
interrupted,  I  shall  breathe  the  incense  of  the  altar 
and  feel  above  our  heads  the  hands  of  the  curate 
who  blessed  us  both  at  the  moment  when  you 
passed,  giving  his  last  benediction!  That  good 
AbbeMarcellin  has  already  married  us.  The  super- 
human joy  of  experiencing  this  new  world  of  unex- 
pected emotions  can  only  be  equaled  by  the  happi- 
ness of  telling  it  all  to  you,  in  sending  back  my 
happiness  to  him  who  has  filled  my  heart  to  over- 
flowing with  the  liberality  of  the  sun  itself. 
Enough  of  veils,  my  well-beloved.  Come!  oh! 
come  back  quickly — with  joy  I  will  unmask  myself. 
You  have  no  doubt  heard  of  the  Mignon  house  in 
Havre.  Well  I  am,  through  an  irreparable  sorrow, 
its  sole  heiress.  Do  not  scorn  us,  descendant  of  a 
Knight  of  Auvergne!  the  arms  of  Mignon  de  la 


1 88  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Bastie  will  not  dishonor  those  of  Canal  is.  We 
bear  gules,  on  a  bend  sable  four  bezants  or;  and  to 
each  quarter  a  patriarchal  cross  or,  with  a  cardinal's 
hat  as  crest  and  thefiocchi  for  supports.  Dear,  I  will 
be  faithful  to  our  motto:  Una  fides,  unus  Dominus — 
one  faith,  one  Lord. 

Perhaps,  my  friend,  you  will  find  some  irony  in 
my  name,  after  what  I  have  done  and  have  just 
avowed  here.  I  am  called  Modeste.  Therefore,  I 
have  not  deceived  you  in  signing  O.  d'Este-M. 
Neither  have  I  deceived  you  about  my  fortune ;  it 
will,  I  believe,  amount  to  that  sum  which  rendered 
you  so  estimable.  I  know  so  well  that  fortune  is  an 
unimportant  consideration  for  you  that  I  speak  of  it 
without  reserve.  Nevertheless,  allow  me  to  tell 
you  how  happy  I  am  to  be  able  to  give  that  freedom 
of  action  to  our  happiness  which  money  procures. 
To  be  able  to  say:  "Let  us  go!"  when  the  fancy 
to  see  a  new  country  takes  us,  to  fly  away,  seated 
side  by  side  in  a  fine  carriage  without  a  care  of  the 
means;  in  fact,  happy  to  be  able  to  give  you  the 
right  to  say  to  the  king :  "I  have  the  fortune  which 
you  need  for  your  peers!"  Thus,  Modeste  IWignon 
can  be  of  service  to  you  and  her  gold  will  have  the 
noblest  destiny.  As  to  your  servant — you  have 
seen  her  once,  at  the  window  en  deshabille — yes, 
your  "fairest  daughter  of  Eve  the  fair,"  was  your 
unknown  correspondent.  But  how  little  the 
Modeste  of  to-day  resembles  her  of  that  day !  That 
one  was  in  her  shroud,  while  this  one — have  I  made 
you  understand  it? — has  received  from  you  the  life 


MODESTE  MIGNON  189 

of  life.  Love  pure  and  permissible,  the  love  which 
my  father,  just  returning  from  a  voyage  rich  and 
prosperous,  will  sanction,  raises  me  with  its  pow- 
erful yet  childlike  hand  from  the  grave  in  which  I 
slept  You  have  awakened  me  as  the  sun  awakens 
the  flowers.  The  look  of  your  beloved  is  no  longer 
the  glance  of  your  little  courageous  Modeste!  Oh! 
no,  it  is  disturbed,  it  has  caught  glimpses  of  happi- 
ness and  veils  itself  under  chaste  eyelids.  I  am 
afraid  to-day  that  I  do  not  merit  my  good  fortune. 
The  king  has  shown  himself  in  his  glory,  my  lord 
has  now  only  a  subject  who  humbly  asks  pardon  for 
the  great  1  iberties  she  has  taken  1  ike  the  gambler  who 
cheated  the  Chevalier  de  Grammont  with  loaded 
dice.  Thus,  my  loved  poet,  I  will  be  thy  Mignon — 
a  Mignon  happier  than  Goethe's,  for  you  will  leave 
me  in  my  country,  will  you  not — in  thy  heart? 

While  I  trace  this  vow  of  the  affianced,  a  nightin- 
gale in  the  Vilquin  park  comes  to  answer  for  you. 
Oh!  tell  me  quickly  that  his  note  so  pure,  so  clear, 
so  full,  which,  like  an  Annunciation,  fills  my  heart 
with  joy  and  love,  does  not  deceive  me ! — 

My  father  will  pass  through  Paris,  on  his  way 
from  Marseilles.  The  Mongenod  house,  with  whom 
he  has  been  in  correspondence  will  know  his  ad- 
dress. Go  to  see  him,  my  beloved  Melchior,  tell 
him  that  you  love  me,  and  do  not  try  to  tell  him 
how  much  I  love  you — Let  us  keep  that  a  secret  be- 
tween ourselves  and  God.  I,  dearest,  am  about  to 
tell  everything  to  my  mother.  The  daughter  of  the 
Wallenrod  Tustall-Bartenstild  will  justify  me  by 


icp  MODESTE  MIGNON 

her  affection,  she  will  be  perfectly  happy  through 
our  poem  so  secret,  so  romantic,  human  and  divine 
at  the  same  time. 

You  have  the  confession  of  the  daughter,  you 
must  now  obtain  the  consent  of  the  Count  de  la 
Bastie,  the  father  of 

Your  MODESTE. 

P.  S. — Above  all  do  not  come  to  Havre  without 
having  obtained  my  father's  consent,  and  if  you 
love  me  you  will  be  able  to  find  him  on  his  way 
through  Paris. 

"What  are  you  doing  at  this  hour,  Mademoiselle 
Modeste?"  asked  Dumay. 

"Writing  to  my  father,"  she  replied  to  the  old 
soldier,  "did  you  not  tell  me  that  you  would  go  to 
Paris  to-morrow?" 

Dumay  had  nothing  more  to  say,  so  he  went  to 
bed,  and  Modeste  began  a  long  letter  to  her  father. 

The  next  day,  Francoise  Cochet,  frightened  on 
seeing  the  Havre  postmark,  came  to  the  Chalet  to 
bring  the  following  letter  to  her  young  mistress  and 
to  take  away  the  one  which  Modeste  had  written : 

TO  MADEMOISELLE  O.    D'ESTE-M. 

My  heart  has  told  me  that  you  were  the  woman 
so  carefully  veiled  and  disguised  who  sat  between 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Latournelle,  who  have  only 
one  child — a  son.  Ah!  my  loved  one,  if  only  you 


MODESTE  MIGNON  191 

are  in  humble  circumstances,  without  distinction, 
position  or  even  fortune,  you  do  not  know  what  my 
joy  would  be !  You  ought  to  know  me  now,  why 
should  you  not  tell  me  the  truth?  I  am  only  a  poet 
by  love,  by  heart,  by  you.  Oh !  what  power  of 
affection  is  necessary  to  keep  me  here  in  this  Hotel 
Normandie  instead  of  going  up  to  Ingouville  which  I 
see  from  my  window!  Do  you  love  me  as  I  love 
you?  To  go  from  Havre  to  Paris  in  this  uncer- 
tainty. Am  I  not  as  much  punished  for  loving,  as  I 
should  be  if  I  had  committed  a  crime?  I  have 
obeyed  blindly.  Oh!  that  I  may  have  a  letter 
promptly,  for  if  you  have  been  mysterious,  I  have 
rendered  mystery  for  mystery,  and  I  must  at  last 
throw  aside  the  mask,  show  you  the  poet  that  I  am, 
and  abdicate  this  borrowed  glory. 

This  letter  made  Modeste  very  uneasy,  she  could 
not  recall  the  one  which  Francoise  had  already  put 
in  the  mail  when  she  tried  to  understand  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  last  lines  by  reading  them  again 
and  again;  she  then  went  to  her  room  and  wrote  a 
letter  demanding  an  explanation. 


During  these  little  events,  other  little  things  were 
happening  in  Havre  which  made  Modeste  forget  her 
uneasiness.  Dumay  went  into  the  city  early  in 
the  morning  and  promptly  ascertained  that  no 
architect  had  arrived  the  previous  day.  Furious  at 
Butscha's  lie,  which  opened  up  complications  of 
which  he  determined  to  know  all,  he  hastened  from 
the  Mayor's  office  to  Latournelle's. 

"And  where  is  your  Butscha?"  he  demanded  of 
his  friend  the  notary,  not  seeing  the  head  clerk  in 
the  room. 

"Butscha,  my  dear  fellow,  is  on  his  way  to  Paris 
as  fast  as  steam  can  carry  him.  He  met  on  the 
quay  very  early  this  morning  a  sailor  who  told  him 
that  his  father,  the  Swedish  sailor,  is  rich.  It  seems 
that  Butscha's  father  is  supposed  to  have  gone  to 
the  Indies  in  the  service  of  a  Prince  of  the 
Mahrattas,  and  he  is  now  in  Paris — " 

"Lies!  infamies!  farces.  Oh!  I  will  find  that 
damned  dwarf  if  I  have  to  go  on  the  express  to 
Paris  for  him !"  cried  Dumay.  "Butscha  is  deceiv- 
ing us.  He  knows  something  about  Modeste  and 
he  has  not  told  us.  If  he  meddles  in  this— he  shall 
never  be  a  notary,  I'll  give  him  back  to  his  mother, 
to  the  dirt,  in  the—" 

"See  here,  my  friend,  don't  hang  a  man  without 
a  trial,"  replied  Latournelle,  frightened  at  Dumay's 
rage. 

13  (X93) 


194  MODESTE  MIGNON 

After  having  explained  upon  what  his  suspicions 
were  founded,  Dumay  begged  Madame  Latournelle 
to  keep  Modeste  company  at  the  Chalet  during  his 
absence. 

"You  will  find  the  colonel  in  Paris,"  said  the 
notary.  "In  the  shipping  news  this  morning  in  the 
Journal  of  Commerce  there  is  under  the  head  of  Mar- 
seilles — here  it  is,  see  for  yourself,"  he  said  pre- 
senting the  paper  to  Dumay:  "Bettina-Mignon, 
Captain  Mignon,  arrived  October  sixth,"  "and  to- 
day is  the  seventeenth ;  Havre  already  knows  of  the 
arrival  of  the  patron — " 

Dumay  begged  Gobenheim  to  make  shift  without 
him  in  future;  he  went  immediately  up  to  the 
Chalet  and  arrived  there  just  as  Modeste  was  seal- 
ing her  two  letters  to  her  father  and  to  Canal  is. 
Except  for  the  address,  these  two  letters  were  ex- 
actly alike  in  size  and  envelope.  Modeste  thought 
she  had  placed  her  father's  upon  that  of  her  Mel- 
chior,  but  had,  in  fact,  done  just  the  reverse.  This 
mistake,  so  common  in  the  trivial  things  of  life, 
occasioned  her  secret  to  be  discovered  by  her  mother 
and  Dumay.  The  lieutenant  was  speaking  with 
warmth  to  Madame  Mignon  in  the  salon,  confiding 
to  her  his  new  fears  engendered  by  the  duplicity  of 
Modeste  and  Butscha's  deception. 

"Madame,"  said  he,  "he  is  a  serpent  that  we 
have  warmed  in  our  bosoms.  There  is  no  room  for 
a  soul  in  those  miserable  little  dwarfs!" — 

Modeste  put  the  letter  for  her  father  in  the  pocket 
of  her  apron,  believing  that  it  was  the  one  destined 


MODESTE  MIGNON  195 

for  her  lover  and  went  down  with  Canal  is's  in  her 
hand,  hearing  Dumay  speak  of  his  immediate  de- 
parture for  Paris. 

"What  have  you  against  my  Mysterious  Dwarf, 
and  what  are  you  talking  so  loud  about?"  said 
Modeste,  showing  herself  at  the  door  of  the  salon. 

"Butscha  has  gone  to  Paris  this  morning,  made- 
moiselle, and  you  doubtless  know  why — perhaps 
to  enter  into  an  intrigue  with  that  so-called  little 
architect  in  the  sulphur-yellow  waistcoat,  who  un- 
luckily for  the  hunchback's  lies,  has  never  been 
here." 

Modeste  was  taken  unawares,  she  believed  that 
the  dwarf  had  gone  to  institute  a  search  into  the 
morals  of  Canalis;  she  turned  pale  and  sat  down. 

"1  will  join  him  there,  I  will  find  him!"  said  Du- 
may. "That  is  the  letter  for  your  father,  I  sup- 
pose, mademoiselle,"  he  said  extending  his  hand, 
"I  will  send  it  to  Mongenod,  provided  the  colonel 
and  I  do  not  pass  each  other  en  route — " 

Modeste  handed  him  the  letter  and  the  little  man 
who  could  read  without  glasses,  looked  mechan- 
ically at  the  address. 

"Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Canalis,  Rue  de  Paradis- 
Poissonniere,  No.  29!" — cried  Dumay.  "What  does 
this  mean?" — 

"Ah!  my  daughter,  that  is  the  name  of  the  man 
you  love!"  cried  Madame  Mignon;  "the  stanzas  to 
which  you  put  music  are  by  him." 

"And  it  is  his  portrait  which  you  have  framed 
upstairs!"  said  Dumay. 


196  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Give  me  that  letter,  Monsieur  Dumay! — "  said 
Modeste,  who  stood  like  a  young  lioness  defending 
her  young. 

"There  it  is,  mademoiselle,"  replied  the  lieu- 
tenant. 

Modeste  hid  the  letter  in  her  bodice  and  held  out 
the  one  intended  for  her  father,  to  Dumay. 

"I  know  what  you  are  capable  of,  Dumay,"  she 
said,  "but  if  you  take  one  step  against  Monsieur 
Canal  is,  I  will  take  one  out  of  this  house  and  never 
return." 

"You  are  going  to  kill  your  mother,  mademoi- 
selle," replied  Dumay,  who  went  out  to  call  his 
wife. 

The  poor  mother  had  indeed  fainted,  struck  to  the 
heart  by  Modeste's  fatal  words. 

"Good-bye,  wife,"  said  the  Breton,  kissing  the 
little  American.  "Save  the  mother,  I  am  going  to 
save  the  daughter." 

He  left  Modeste  and  Madame  Dumay  with  Ma- 
dame Mignon ;  in  a  few  moments  he  made  his  prep- 
arations to  depart,  and  went  into  Havre.  One  hour 
later,  he  was  traveling  by  post  with  that  rapidity 
which  passion  or  speculation  alone  gives  the  wheels. 

Soon  restored  to  consciousness  by  Modeste's  care, 
Madame  Mignon  went  up  to  her  chamber  leaning 
upon  her  daughter's  arm.  When  they  were  alone, 
she  said  as  her  only  reproach: 

"Unfortunate  child,  what  have  you  done?  Why 
did  you  hide  anything  from  me?  Am  I  then  so 
cruel?—" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  197 

"Oh!  naturally,  I  was  going  to  tell  you  every- 
thing," replied  the  young  girl,  weeping. 

She  related  all  to  her  mother;  she  read  her  the 
letters  and  the  replies;  she  stripped  off  petal  by 
petal  the  rose  of  her  poem  into  the  heart  of  the  good 
German.  When  the  confidence,  which  took  half  of 
the  day,  had  been  finished,  when  she  noticed  almost 
a  smile  upon  the  lips  of  the  too-indulgent  blind 
woman,  she  threw  herself  into  her  arms  all  in 
tears. 

"O!  my  mother!"  she  said,  in  the  midst  of  her 
sobs,  "you  whose  heart,  all  gold  and  all  poetry,  is 
like  a  chosen  vessel  formed  by  God  to  contain  the 
pure,  unique  and  heavenly  love  which  fills  all  life! 
— You,  whom  I  wish  to  imitate  in  loving  only  my 
husband  in  the  world,  you  should  understand  how 
bitter  are  the  tears  which  I  am  shedding  at  this 
moment  and  which  fall  on  your  hands. — This  but- 
terfly with  variegated  wings,  this  double  and  beau- 
tiful soul  which  I  have  nurtured  with  maternal  solic- 
itude, my  love,  my  holy  love,  this  living,  animated 
mystery,  is  falling  into  vulgar  hands,  who  are 
going  to  tear  its  wings  and  its  veil  under  the  mis- 
erable pretext  of  enlightening  me,  of  learning  if 
genius  is  prudent  as  a  banker,  if  my  Melchior  is 
capable  of  hoarding  his  income,  if  he  has  some  en- 
tanglement to  be  unraveled,  if  he  is  not  guilty  in 
the  eyes  of  the  bourgeois  of  some  youthful  episode, 
which  is  to  our  love  now  only  as  a  cloud  to  the  sun. 
— What  are  they  going  to  do?  See,  there  is  my 
hand;  it  burns  with  fever.  They  will  kill  me — " 


198  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Modeste,  overcome  with  a  terrible  chill,  was 
obliged  to  go  to  bed,  causing  the  greatest  anxiety  to 
her  mother,  to  Madame  Latournelle  and  to  Madame 
Dumay,  who  watched  her  during  the  journey  of  the 
lieutenant  to  Paris,  where  the  sequence  of  events 
takes  the  drama  for  an  instant. 

Those  people  who  are  really  modest,  as  was 
Ernest  de  la  Briere,  but  especially  those  who, 
knowing  their  own  worth,  are  neither  loved  nor  ap- 
preciated, will  understand  the  infinite  delight  the 
secretary  took  in  reading  Modeste's  letter.  After 
having  found  him  spiritual  and  grand  in  soul,  his 
artless  and  cunning  young  mistress  found  him 
handsome.  This,  indeed,  was  supreme  flattery. 
Why  ?  Beauty  without  doubt  is  the  signature  of  the 
master  to  a  work  on  which  he  has  imprinted  his 
soul ;  it  is  the  divinity  which  manifests  itself;  and 
to  see  it  even  where  it  is  not,  to  create  it  by  the 
power  of  an  enchanted  glance,  is  not  this  the  highest 
type  of  love?  Therefore  the  poor  secretary  ex- 
claimed to  himself  with  the  delight  of  an  applauded 
author : 

"At  last  I  am  loved!" 

When  a  woman,  courtesan  or  young  girl,  has 
allowed  this  sentence  to  escape  her,  "You  are  hand- 
some!" even  if  a  falsehood,  if  a  man  opens  his 
thick  skull  to  the  subtle  poison  of  these  words,  he 
is  forever  attached  by  eternal  bonds  to  this  charm- 
ing liar,  to  this  woman,  true  or  false;  she  becomes 
his  world;  he  thirsts  for  this  declaration,  he  will 
never  be  weary  of  it,  even  were  he  a  prince. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  199 

Ernest  walked  proudly  up  and  down  his  chamber; 
he  placed  himself  at  three-quarters,  in  profile, 
and  at  full  face,  before  the  mirror;  he  attempted  to 
criticise  himself,  but  a  diabolically  persuasive  voice 
said  to  him:  "Modeste  is  right!"  He  returned  to 
the  letter;  he  re-read  it;  he  saw  his  heavenly 
blond,  he  talked  to  her!  Then  in  the  midst  of  his 
ecstasy  he  was  struck  with  this  atrocious  thought : 
"She  thinks  I  am  Canal  is,  and  she  is  the  heiress  of 
a  million!"  All  his  happiness  fell,  as  a  man  falls 
who  reaches  in  a  state  of  somnambulism  the  ridge 
of  a  roof,  hears  a  voice,  steps  forward,  and  is 
dashed  to  pieces  on  the  sidewalk. 

"Without the  aureole  of  glory,  I  should  be  ugly!" 
he  exclaimed.  "In  what  a  terrible  position  I  have 
placed  myself!" 

La  Briere  was  too  much  the  man  of  his  letters,  he 
had  too  noble  and  pure  a  heart  which  he  had 
allowed  to  be  seen,  to  hesitate  at  the  voice  of  honor. 
He  decided  to  go  at  once  and  avow  all  to  Modeste's 
father  if  he  were  in  Paris,  and  to  acquaint  Canal  is 
with  the  serious  ending  of  their  Parisian  nonsense. 
For  this  refined  young  man,  the  enormity  of  her 
fortune  was  the  decisive  reason.  Above  all,  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  suspected  of  having  made  the  enthu- 
siasm of  this  correspondence,  so  sincere  on  his  part, 
serve  to  obtain  a  dowry  by  false  pretences.  Tears 
came  to  his  eyes  as  he  walked  from  his  house  in  the 
Rue  Chantereine  to  the  banker  Mongenod,  whose 
fortune,  alliances  and  connections  were  in  part  the 
work  of  the  minister,  his  own  protector. 


200  MODESTE  MIGNON 

At  the  same  time  that  La  Briere  consulted  the 
head  of  the  house  of  Mongenod  and  learned  all  the 
information  which  his  strange  position  necessitated, 
a  scene  was  taking  place  with  Canalis,  which  the 
abrupt  departure  of  the  old  lieutenant  may  have 
foretold. 

As  a  true  soldier  of  the  Imperial  school,  Dumay, 
whose  Breton  blood  had  boiled  during  the  journey, 
had  pictured  to  himself  a  poet  as  a  queer  character 
without  consistency,  a  maker  of  rhymes,  lodged  in 
an  attic,  dressed  in  black  clothes,  threadbare  at 
every  seam,  whose  boots  occasionally  are  soleless, 
whose  linen  is  doubtful,  who  blows  his  nose  with 
his  fingers ;  in  short,  who  always  has  the  appear- 
ance of  falling  from  the  moon,  when  he  did  not 
scribble,  like  Butscha.  But  the  ebullition  which 
growled  in  his  heart  and  brain  received  something 
like  a  dash  of  cold  water,  when  he  entered  the  fine 
house  inhabited  by  the  poet,  when  he  noticed  in  the 
court,  a  groom  cleaning  a  carriage,  when  he  saw  in 
a  magnificent  dining-room  another  servant,  dressed 
like  a  banker,  and  to  whom  the  groom  had  sent  him, 
and  who  replied  to  him,  as  he  looked  at  him  from 
head  to  foot,  that  Monsieur  le  Baron  was  not  to  be 
seen. 

"Monsieur  le  Baron  has  a  sitting  with  the  Coun- 
cil of  State  to-day,"  he  added  in  finishing. 

"Am  I  then  at  Monsieur  Canalis's  house,  the 
author  of  poetry?" — asked  Dumay. 

"Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Canalis,"  replied  the 
valet,  "is  indeed  the  grand  poet  of  whom  you  speak, 


MODESTE  MIGNON  2OI 

but  he  is  also  Master  of  Requests  to  the  Council  of 
State  and  attached  to  the  Ministry  of  Foreign 
Affairs." 

Dumay,  who  had  come  to  box  the  ears  of  a  rascal, 
according  to  his  scornful  expression,  found  a  high 
officer  of  state.  The  salon  where  he  waited,  re- 
markable for  its  magnificence,  offered  to  his  medita- 
tions the  string  of  decorations  which  sparkled  upon 
Canal is's  black  coat  left  by  the  valet  de  chambre 
upon  a  chair.  Soon  his  eyes  were  attracted  by  the 
brilliancy  and  workmanship  of  a  silver-gilt  cup 
where  these  words  "Given  by  MADAME,"  struck 
him.  Then,  glancing  towards  a  pedestal,  he  saw  a 
Sevres  vase  upon  which  was  engraved  "Given  by 
Madame  the  DAUPHINE." 

These  silent  admonitions  recalled  Dumay  to  his 
good  sense,  while  the  valet  asked  his  master  if  he 
would  receive  a  stranger,  one  Dumay,  who  had 
come  expressly  from  Havre  to  see  him. 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Canal  is. 

"A  man  well-dressed  and  wearing  the  ribbon  of 
the  Legion  of  Honor." 

Upon  an  assenting  sign,  the  valet  went  out  and 
returning  he  announced: 

"Monsieur  Dumay." 

When  he  heard  himself  announced,  when  he  stood 
before  Canalis  in  the  middle  of  a  study  as  rich  as 
elegant,  his  feet  upon  a  carpet  as  beautiful  as  the 
finest  in  the  Mignon  house,  and  when  he  saw  the 
studied  regard  of  the  poet,  who  was  playing  with 
the  tassels  of  his  sumptuous  morning  coat,  Dumay 


202  MODESTE  MIGNON 

was  so  completely  nonplussed  that  he  allowed  him- 
self to  be  questioned  by  the  great  man. 

"To  what  do  I  owe  the  honor  of  your  visit,  mon- 
sieur ?" 

"Monsieur — , "  said  Dumay,  who  remained  stand- 
ing. 

"If  you  wish  to  speak  for  any  length  of  time," 
said  Canalis,  interrupting  him,  "pray  be  seated;" 
then  Canalis  dropped  into  his  chair  a  la  Voltaire, 
crossed  his  legs,  swinging  the  upper  one  which  he 
raised  to  the  level  of  his  eyes,  looked  at  Dumay 
steadily,  who  found  himself,  to  use  a  soldier's  ex- 
pression, utterly  bayonetted.  "I  am  listening  to 
you,  monsieur,"  said  the  poet,  "my  moments  are 
precious;  the  ministry  expects  me — " 

"Monsieur,"  said  Dumay,  "I  will  be  brief.  You 
have  seduced,  I  do  not  know  how,  a  young  girl  at 
Havre,  beautiful  and  rich,  the  last,  the  only  hope 
of  two  noble  families,  and  I  have  come  to  ask  you 
what  are  your  intentions — " 

Canalis,  who  for  three  months  had  been  occupied 
with  serious  matters,  who  wished  to  be  made  Com- 
mander of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  and  become  minis- 
ter at  a  German  Court,  had  absolutely  forgotten 
the  letter  from  Havre. 

"I?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  you,"  repeated  Dumay. 

"Monsieur,"  replied  Canalis,  smiling,  "I  do  not 
know  any  more  what  you  are  talking  about  than  if 
you  were  talking  Hebrew  to  me. — I  seduce  a  young 
girl? — I  who? — "  A  superb  smile  played  upon 


MODESTE  MIGNON  203 

Canal is's  lips.  "Mercy,  monsieur!  I  am  not  enough 
of  a  child  to  amuse  myself  stealing  small  wild  fruit, 
when  I  have  good  and  fine  orchards  where  the  most 
beautiful  peaches  in  the  world  ripen.  All  Paris 
knows  where  my  affections  are  placed.  That  there 
may  be  at  Havre  a  young  girl  seized  with  some 
admiration  of  which  I  am  not  worthy,  for  the  verses 
which  I  have  made,  my  dear  monsieur,  that  would 
not  surprise  me!  Nothing  more  common!  Here, 
see!  Look  at  this  beautiful  ebony  box  inlaid  with 
mother-of-pearl  and  ornamented  with  iron,  wrought 
as  fine  as  lace. — This  box  came  from  Pope  Leo  X. 
It  was  given  to  me  by  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu, 
who  received  it  from  the  King  of  Spain.  I  have 
destined  it  to  contain  all  the  letters  I  receive  from 
all  parts  of  Europe,  from  unknown  women  or  young 
girls. — Oh,  I  have  the  most  profound  respect  for 
these  bouquets  of  flowers  gathered  direct  from  the 
soul  and  sent  in  a  moment  of  exaltation,  truly 
worthy  of  respect.  Yes,  for  me  the  outburst  of  a 
heart  is  a  noble  and  sublime  thing! — Others, 
scoffers,  roll  up  these  letters  to  light  their  cigars, 
or  give  them  to  their  wives  for  curl-papers;  but  I 
who  am  unmarried,  I,  monsieur,  have  too  much  del- 
icacy not  to  preserve  in  a  kind  of  tabernacle  these 
offerings,  so  ingenuous,  so  disinterested.  Indeed,  I 
gather  them  with  a  sort  of  veneration,  and  at  my 
death,  I  shall  cause  them  to  be  burned  before  my 
eyes.  So  much  the  worse  for  those  who  find  me 
ridiculous!  What  do  you  want!  I  am  grateful, 
and  these  testimonies  aid  me  to  bear  the  criticisms 


204  MODESTE  MIGNON 

and  the  wearisomeness  of  a  literary  life.  When  I 
receive  a  shot  in  my  back  from  an  enemy  hiding  in 
the  ambush  of  a  paper,  I  look  at  this  casket  and  say 
to  myself,  'There  are  here  and  there  some  souls 
whose  wounds  have  been  healed,  assuaged  or 
dressed  by  me.' — " 

This  poetry,  thrown  off  with  the  talent  of  a  great 
actor,  petrified  the  little  cashier,  whose  eyes  grew 
big  and  whose  astonishment  amused  the  poet 

"For  you,"  said  this  peacock,  spreading  his  tail, 
"and  out  of  regard  for  a  position  which  I  appreciate, 
I  will  offer  to  open  this  casket  You  may  look  to 
find  your  young  girl  there;  but  I  know  that  I  am 
right;  I  remember  the  names  and  you  are  in  error 
that—" 

"Ah!  only  see  what  becomes  of  a  young  girl  in 
this  whirlpool  of  Paris!"  exclaimed  Dumay;  "the 
love  of  her  parents,  the  joy  of  her  friends,  the  hope 
of  everybody,  caressed  by  all,  the  pride  of  a  house, 
and  for  whom  six  devoted  persons  have  made  a 
rampart  of  their  hearts  and  fortunes  against  all  mis- 
fortune!—" 

After  a  pause  Dumay  continued : 

"Monsieur,  you  are  a  great  poet  and  I  am  only  a 
poor  soldier. — During  the  fifteen  years  that  I  served 
my  country,  and  in  the  lowest  ranks,  I  felt  the 
breath  of  more  than  one  bullet  on  my  face.  I  have 
traversed  the  plains  of  Siberia  where  I  remained  a 
prisoner ;  the  Russians  threw  me  in  a  kibitha,  as  if 
I  had  been  a  thing.  I  have  suffered  everything; 
and  finally,  I  have  seen  my  comrades  die  in  heaps 


MODESTE  MIGNON  205 

— but  you — you  have  frozen  the  marrow  in  my 
bones,  as  I  have  never  felt  before!" 

Dumay  thought  he  had  moved  the  poet,  but  he 
had  only  flattered  him,  an  almost  impossible  thing 
to  do,  for  an  ambitious  man  no  longer  remembers 
the  first  phial  of  sweet  perfume  which  Praise  had 
broken  upon  his  head. 

"Ah!  my  brave  fellow,"  said  the  poet,  solemnly 
putting  his  hand  upon  Dumay's  shoulder  and  finding 
it  droll  to  cause  a  soldier  of  the  Emperor  to  tremble ; 
"this  young  girl  is  everything  to  you. — But  what  is 
that  to  the  great  world? — Nothing.  At  this 
moment,  the  greatest  Mandarin  in  China  rolls  up 
his  eyes  and  puts  the  Empire  in  mourning.  Does 
that  cause  you  great  sorrow?  The  English  are  kill- 
ing in  the  Indies  thousands  of  men  who  are  as  good 
as  we  are,  and  at  the  moment  in  which  I  speak  the 
most  ravishing  woman  is  being  burned  there;  but 
on  account  of  that  you  have  none  the  less  had  your 
morning  cup  of  coffee. — At  this  moment  even,  one 
can  count  in  Paris  many  mothers  of  families,  who 
are  lying  on  straw,  and  who  thrust  a  child  into  the 
world  without  the  clothes  to  cover  it! — Yes,  see  this 
delicious  tea  in  a  cup  worth  five  louis,  and  I  am 
writing  verses  at  which  all  the  Parisians  exclaim: 
Charming!  Charming!  Divine!  Delicious!  That 
touches  the  soul !  Social  nature,  even  as  nature  it- 
self, is  a  grand  forgetter.  In  ten  years  you  will 
marvel  at  your  procedure !  You  are  in  a  city  where 
one  dies,  one  marries,  where  people  idolize  each  other 
in  a  meeting,  where  the  young  girl  asphyxiates 


206  MODESTE  MIGNON 

herself,  where  the  man  of  genius  and  his  cargo 
of  themes,  swelling  with  humanitarian  benefits, 
founder  beside  each  other,  often  under  the  same 
roof,  yet  ignoring  each  other's  existence!  and  you 
come  to  ask  us  to  die  of  grief  at  this  everyday 
affair.  A  young  girl  of  Havre  is,  or  is  not? — Oh! 
but  you  are — " 

"You  call  yourself  a  poet,"  cried  Dumay,  "but  do 
you  feel  nothing  of  that  which  you  depict?" 

"If  we  felt  the  miseries  or  the  joys  which  we 
sing,  we  should  be  used  up  in  a  few  months  like  old 
shoes !" — said  the  poet  smiling. — "See !  You  ought 
not  to  come  from  Havre  to  Paris  and  to  Canalis,  not 
to  carry  something  back.  Soldier!" — Canalis  had 
the  figure  and  the  gesture  of  a  Homeric  h§ro, — 
"learn  this  of  the  poet  'Every  great  sentiment  is 
with  man  a  poem  so  individual  that  his  best  friend 
even  does  not  understand  it.  It  is  a  treasure  that  is 
only  your  own,  it  is* — " 

"Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,"  said  Dumay, 
who  regarded  Canalis  with  horror.  "Have  you 
been  to  Havre?" 

"I  passed  a  night  and  a  day  there  in  the  spring  of 
1824  going  to  London." 

"You  are  a  man  of  honor,"  replied  Dumay. 
"Can  you  give  me  your  word  that  you  do  not  know 
Mademoiselle  Modeste  Mignon?" — 

"This  is  the  first  time  that  the  name  ever  struck 
my  ears,"  replied  Canalis. 

"Ah!  then,  monsieur,  into  what  underhand  in- 
trigue am  I  going  to  put  my  foot? — Can  I  count 


MODESTE  MIGNON  207 

upon  you  to  help  me  in  my  research? — for  I  am  sure 
your  name  has  been  misused!  You  should  have 
received,  yesterday,  a  letter  from  Havre. — " 

"I  have  received  nothing!  Be  assured  that  I  will 
do  everything  in  my  power  to  assist  you,  monsieur," 
said  Canalis. 

Dumay  withdrew,  sad  at  heart,  believing  that  the 
hideous  Butscha  had  put  himself  into  the  skin  of  the 
great  poet  in  order  to  seduce  Modeste;  while  on  the 
contrary  Butscha,  as  intelligent  and  delicate  as  a 
prince  who  revenges  himself,  cleverer  than  a  spy, 
rummaged  into  the  life  and  actions  of  Canalis,  evad- 
ing all  eyes  through  his  diminutive  size,  as  an  insect 
which  makes  its  path  through  the  sap  wood  of  a 
tree. . 

Hardly  had  the  Breton  gone  out  than  La  Briere 
entered  his  friend's  study.  Naturally  Canalis  men- 
tioned the  visit  of  this  man  from  Havre. — 

"Oh!"  said  Ernest,  "Modeste  Mignon!  I  have 
come  expressly  on  account  of  that  adventure." 

"Ah,  bah!"  exclaimed  Canalis.  "Have  I  then 
triumphed  through  a  proxy?" 

"Yes ;  that  is  the  key  to  the  drama.  My  friend,  I 
am  beloved  by  the  most  charming  girl  in  the  world, 
beautiful  enough  to  shine  among  the  most  beautiful 
of  Paris,  with  as  much  heart  and  literature  as  Cla- 
rissa Harlowe.  She  has  seen  me,  I  please  her,  and 
she  believes  I  am  the  great  Canalis! — This  is  not 
all.  Modeste  Mignon  is  of  noble  birth,  and  Mon- 
genod  has  just  told  me  that  her  father,  the  Count  de 
la  Bastie,  is  said  to  have  something  like  six  million 


208  MODESTE  MIGNON 

francs. — The  father  has  arrived  within  three 
days  and  I  have  just  asked  an  interview  with  him 
at  ten  o'clock,  through  Mongenod,  who  in  a  few 
words  told  him  that  it  concerns  the  happiness  of  his 
daughter. — You  understand  that  before  seeking  the 
father,  I  felt  I  ought  to  confess  everything  to  you." 

"Among  those  innumerable  flowers  open  to  the 
sun  of  glory,"  said  Canalis  emphatically,  "there  is 
one  which  is  perfect,  bearing  like  the  orange  trees, 
its  golden  fruit  amidst  the  thousand  perfumes  of 
mind  and  of  beauty  united!  An  elegant  shrub,  a 
true  tenderness,  perfect  happiness,  and  it  has 
escaped  me!" — Canalis  looked  at  the  carpet  not  to 
allow  his  eyes  to  be  read.  "How,"  he  continued 
after  a  pause,  in  which  he  had  regained  his  com- 
posure, "how  could  I  divine  through  the  intoxica- 
ting odors  of  these  prettily-fashioned  sheets,  these 
phrases  which  mount  to  the  head,  the  real  heart, 
the  young  girl,  the  young  woman  with  whom  love 
takes  the  livery  of  flattery  and  who  loves  us  for 
ourselves,  who  offers  us  real  happiness  ? — It  would 
require  an  angel  or  a  devil,  and  I  am  only  an  am- 
bitious Master  of  Requests. — Ah!  my  friend,  fame 
makes  of  us  an  object  at  which  a  thousand  arrows 
take  aim !  One  of  us  owes  his  rich  marriage  to  a 
hydraulic  piece  of  poetry,  and  I,  the  more  loving 
man,  more  a  woman's  man  than  he,  I  shall  have 
lost  mine, — for  you  love  this  poor  girl  ?" — he  said 
looking  at  La  Briere. 

"Oh!"  said  La  Briere. 

"Well,"  said  the  poet  taking  his  friend's  arm  and 


MODESTE  MIGNON  209 

leaning  on  it,  "be  happy,  Ernest!  As  it  happens,  I 
shall  not  have  been  ungrateful  towards  you!  You 
will  be  richly  recompensed  for  your  devotion,  for  I 
will  lend  myself  generously  to  your  happiness." 

Canal  is  was  enraged,  but  he  could  not  act  other- 
wise, and  then  he  took  advantage  of  his  misfortune 
by  putting  himself  upon  a  pedestal.  Tears 
moistened  the  young  secretary's  eyes;  he  threw 
himself  into  Canal  is's  arms  and  embraced  him. 

"Ah!  Canalis,  I  did  not  know  you  at  all !" 

"What  do  you  want?  To  make  the  tour  of  the 
world,  takes  time!"  replied  the  poet  with  his  em- 
phatic irony. 

"Are  you  thinking,"  said  La  Briere,  "of  this  im- 
mense fortune? — " 

"Will  it  not  be  well  placed,  my  friend?"  ex- 
claimed Canalis,  accompanying  this  effusion  with  a 
charming  gesture. 

"Melchior,"  said  La  Briere,  "between  us  it  is  for 
life  or  death.—" 

He  pressed  the  poet's  hands  and  left  him  abruptly, 
as  he  longed  to  see  Monsieur  Mignon. 


At  this  moment,  the  Count  de  la  Bastie  was  over- 
whelmed with  the  misfortune  which  awaited  him 
like  a  prey.  He  had  learned  by  his  daughter's  let- 
ter of  the  death  of  Bettina-Caroline,  and  of  his 
wife's  blindness,  and  Dumay  had  just  related  to 
him  the  terrible  tangle  of  Modeste's  love  affair. 

"Leave  me  alone,"  he  said  to  his  faithful  friend. 

When  the  lieutenant  had  closed  the  door,  the  un- 
happy father  threw  himself  upon  a  sofa  and 
remained  there  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  weep- 
ing those  rare,  scanty  tears,  which  roll  between  the 
eyelids  of  people  fifty-six  years  old,  which  moisten 
them  without  falling — which  dry  quickly  and  which 
revive  as  one  of  the  last  dews  of  man's  autumn. 

"To  have  cherished  children,  to  have  an  adored 
wife,  is  to  give  one's  self  several  hearts  and  offer 
them  to  the  dagger!"  he  exclaimed,  springing  up 
like  a  tiger  and  walking  up  and  down  his  room. 
"To  be  a  father  is  to  deliver  one's  self  to  misfor- 
tune, bound  hand  and  foot.  If  I  meet  this  d'Estourny 
I  will  kill  him!  Have  daughters!  One  gives 
her  hand  to  a  blackguard,  and  the  other,  my  Mo- 
deste,  to  whom  ?  To  a  coward  who  abuses  her  under 
the  armor  of  the  gilded  paper  of  a  poet  Still  if  it 
wereCanalis!  That  would  be  no  great  harm.  But 
this  Scapin  of  a  lover! — I  will  strangle  him  with 
my  two  hands!" — he  said  to  himself,  involuntarily 

(211) 


212  MODESTE  MIGNON 

making  a  gesture  of  terrible  energy. — "And  after- 
wards?"— he  asked  himself.  "If  my  daughter 
should  die  of  sorrow!" 

Mechanically  he  looked  from  the  windows  of  the 
Hotel  des  Princes,  then  returned  and  reseated  him- 
self on  the  divan  where  he  remained  stationary. 
The  fatigues  of  six  voyages  to  the  Indies,  the  cares 
of  speculation,  the  dangers  run  and  avoided,  and  his 
sorrows,  had  silvered  Charles  Mignon's  hair.  His 
fine  military  face  of  pure  contour,  had  become 
bronzed  by  the  sun  of  the  Malay  Islands,  of  China  and 
Asia  Minor,  and  it  had  taken  on  an  imposing  charac- 
ter, which  grief  at  this  moment  rendered  sublime. 

"And  Mongenod,  who  tells  me  to  have  confidence 
in  the  young  man  who  is  coming  to  talk  about  my 
daughter, — " 

Here  Ernest  de  la  Briere  was  announced  by  one 
of  the  servants  whom  the  Count  de  la  Bastie  had 
attached  to  himself  during  the  last  four  years,  and 
whom  he  had  chosen  among  the  number  of  his  sub- 
ordinates. 

"You  come,  monsieur,  from  my  friend  Mongenod," 
he  said. 

"Yes,"  replied  Ernest,  who  timidly  regarded  this 
face  as  sombre  as  that  of  Othello.  "My  name  is 
Ernest  de  la  Briere,  allied,  monsieur,  to  the  family 
of  the  late  Prime  Minister,  and  I  was  his  private 
secretary  during  his  ministry.  Upon  his  fall,  his 
Excellency  placed  me  at  the  Cour  des  Comptes, 
where  1  am  an  auditor  of  the  first  class,  and  where 
I  may  become  a  Master  of  Accounts." 


MODESTE  MIGNON  213 

"In  what  manner  can  all  this  concern  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Bastie?"  asked  Charles  Mignon. 

"Monsieur,  I  love  her,  and  I  have  the  unhoped- 
for happiness  of  being  loved  by  her. — Listen  to  me, 
monsieur,"  said  Ernest,  arresting  a  dreadful  move- 
ment of  the  irritated  father.  "I  have  the  strangest 
confession  to  make  to  you,  the  most  shameful  for  a 
man  of  honor;  the  most  terrible  punishment  for  my 
conduct,  natural,  perhaps,  is  not  being  obliged  to 
reveal  it  to  you. — I  fear  the  daughter  still  more  than 
the  father,—" 

Ernest  related  simply  and  with  the  nobility  which 
sincerity  gives,  the  opening  scenes  of  this  little 
domestic  drama,  without  omitting  the  twenty  or 
more  letters  which  had  been  exchanged  and  which 
he  had  brought,  nor  the  interview  which  he  had 
just  had  with  Canal  is. 

When  the  father  had  finished  reading  these  letters, 
the  poor  lover,  pale  and  supplicating,  trembled 
under  the  fiery  glances  with  which  the  Provencal 
looked  at  him. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Charles  Mignon,  "there  is 
only  one  error  in  all  this,  but  it  is  the  chief  one. 
My  daughter  has  not  six  million  francs.  At  the 
utmost  she  has  a  dowry  of  two  hundred  thousand 
francs,  and  very  doubtful  hopes  of  more." 

"Ah!  monsieur,"  said  Ernest,  rising  as  he  threw 
himself  upon  Charles  Mignon  and  pressed  him  in 
his  arms,  "you  have  removed  a  weight  which  op- 
pressed me!  Perhaps  my  happiness  may  be  possi- 
ble, now! — 1  have  protectors;  I  will  be  Master  of 


214  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Accounts.  Had  she  had  only  ten  thousand  francs, 
if  it  were  necessary  for  me  to  acknowledge  a  dowry, 
Mademoiselle  Modeste  would  still  be  my  wife,  and 
to  make  her  happy  as  you  have  made  yours,  and 
to  be  to  you  a  true  son — yes,  monsieur,  I  have 
no  father, — there  you  see  the  bottom  of  my 
heart" 

Charles  Mignon  moved  back  three  steps,  fixed 
upon  La  Briere  a  look  which  penetrated  into  the 
eyes  of  this  young  man  as  a  dagger  into  its  sheath, 
and  remained  silent,  finding  the  most  entire  candor 
and  the  purest  truth  depicted  on  this  brightened 
countenance,  in  these  delighted  eyes. 

"Has  fate  then  grown  weary  of  afflicting  me?" 
he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "And  shall  I  find  in  this 
fellow  the  pearl  of  sons-in-law?" 

He  walked  around  the  room  in  an  agitated  man- 
ner. 

"You  owe,  monsieur,"  at  last  said  Charles 
Mignon,  "the  most  entire  submission  to  the  decision 
which  you  have  come  here  to  seek,  for  without  that 
you  are  playing  a  comedy." 

"Oh,  monsieur — " 

"Listen  to  me,"  said  the  father,  as  with  a  glance 
he  fastened  La  Briere  to  his  place.  "I  will  be 
neither  severe  nor  hard  nor  unjust  You  shall  sub- 
mit both  to  the  inconveniences  and  the  advantages 
of  the  false  position  in  which  you  have  placed  your- 
self. My  daughter  believes  that  she  loves  one  of 
the  great  poets  of  the  day,  whose  fame,  before  all 
else,  has  seduced  her.  Well,  I,  her  father,  ought  I 


MODESTE  MIGNON  215 

not  to  place  her  in  a  position  to  choose  between  the 
Celebrity  who  was  like  a  beacon  blaze  for  her,  and 
the  poor  Reality  which  chance  has  thrown  her  by 
one  of  those  jests  which  it  so  often  permits  itself? 
Must  she  not  be  able  to  choose  between  Canal  is  and 
you  ?  I  count  upon  your  honor  to  be  silent  upon 
what  I  have  just  told  you  relative  to  the  state  of  my 
affairs.  You  will  come,  you  and  your  friend  the 
Baron  de  Canal  is,  to  pass  the  last  two  weeks  of  the 
month  of  October  at  Havre.  My  house  will  be  open 
to  you  both,  and  my  daughter  will  have  the  oppor- 
tunity of  observing  you.  Believe  me  you  ought  to 
bring  your  rival  yourself,  allowing  him  to  believe 
all  the  nonsense  that  has  been  said  about  the  mil- 
lions of  the  Comte  de  la  Bastie.  To-morrow  I  shall 
be  at  Havre,  and  shall  expect  you  three  days  after 
my  arrival.  Adieu,  monsieur. " — 

Poor  Ernest  went  back  to  Canalis  at  a  slow  pace. 
At  this  moment,  being  alone,  the  poet  abandoned 
himself  to  the  torrents  of  thoughts  which  caused  the 
outburst  of  that  second  impulse  so  praised  by  Tal- 
leyrand. The  first  impulse  is  the  voice  of  nature; 
the  second  is  that  of  society. 

"A  girl  with  six  millions!  and  my  eyes  did  not 
see  this  gold  sparkling  across  the  shadows!  With 
such  a  fortune  I  could  be  a  peer  of  France,  count, 
ambassador.  I  have  replied  to  bourgeois  girls,  to 
fools,  and  to  intriguing  girls  who  desired  an  auto- 
graph! And  I  wearied  of  these  masquerade  in- 
trigues, just  on  the  day  when  God  sent  me  a  soul  of 
the  choicest,  an  angel  with  golden  wings — Bah!  I 


2l6  MODESTE  M1GNON 

am  going  to  write  a  sublime  poem  on  the  affair,  and 
this  chance  will  come  again!  But  how  happy  he 
is,  this  little  simpleton,  La  Briere,  who  is  strutting 
around  in  my  halo! — What  plagiarism!  I  am  the 
model,  I,  and  he  shall  be  the  statue!  We  have 
played  the  fable  of  Bertrand  and  Raton!  Six  mil- 
lions and  an  angel!  A  Mignon  de  la  Bastie!  An 
aristocratic  angel  loving  poetry  and  the  poet — And 
I,  who  showed  the  muscles  of  the  athlete,  who  made 
the  exercises  of  Hercules  to  astonish,  by  moral 
force,  this  champion  of  physical  force,  this  brave 
soldier  full  of  heart,  the  friend  of  this  young  girl,  to 
whom  he  will  say  that  I  have  a  soul  of  brass!  I 
play  Napoleon  when  I  should  have  assumed  the 
attitude  of  a  seraph! — Well,  perhaps  I  shall  have  a 
friend,  but  I  shall  have  paid  dearly  for  him.  But  is 
friendship  so  beautiful  ?  Six  millions;  that  is  the 
price  of  a  friend !  One  cannot  have  many  of  them 
at  that  price  !"— 

La  Briere  entered  his  friend's  study  at  this  last 
point  of  exclamation.  He  was  sad. 

"Well,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  Canalis  to 
him. 

"The  father  demands  that  his  daughter  shall  be 
in  a  position  to  choose  for  herself  between  the  two 
Canalises." — 

"Poor  fellow!"  exclaimed  the  poet  smiling.  "He 
is  very  clever,  this  father — " 

"I  am  engaged  by  my  honor  to  take  you  to 
Havre,"  said  La  Briere  piteously. 

"My   dear    boy,"    replied   Canalis,    "from    the 


MODESTE  MIGNON  217 

instant  it  is  a  question  of  your  honor,  you  can  count 
upon  me. — I  will  ask  a  leave  of  absence  for  a 
month—" 

"Ah!  Modeste  is  very  beautiful !"  cried  out  La 
Briere  in  despair,  "and  you  will  eclipse  me  easily! 
1  was  much  astonished  to  see  Happiness  troubling 
itself  about  me,  and  I  said  to  myself,  'It  is  mis- 
taken?'" 

"Bah!  We  shall  see!"  said  Canal  is  with  atro- 
cious gaiety. 

That  evening,  after  dinner,  Charles  Mignon  and 
his  cashier  flew  from  Paris  to  Havre,  owing  to  their 
having  paid  the  postilions  three  francs  apiece.  The 
father  had  entirely  appeased  the  watchdog  concern- 
ing Modeste's  love  affair,  in  relieving  him  of  his 
orders  and  assuring  him  concerning  Butscha. 

"All  is  for  the  best,  my  old  Dumay,"  said 
Charles,  who  had  made  inquiries  of  Mongenod  about 
Canalis  and  La  Briere.  "We  shall  have  two  char- 
acters for  one  role!"  he  cried  gaily. 

Nevertheless,  he  recommended  to  his  old  com- 
rade the  most  absolute  discretion  concerning  the 
comedy  which  was  about  to  be  enacted  at  the 
Chalet, — the  most  gentle  revenge,  or  if  you  will, 
the  gentlest  lesson  of  a  father  to  a  daughter.  These 
two  friends  had  a  long  talk  from  Paris  to  Havre, 
which  made  the  colonel  cognizant  of  the  smallest 
incidents  which  had  happened  in  the  family  during 
these  four  years,  and  Charles  told  Dumay  that 
Desplein,  the  great  surgeon,  was  coming,  before 
the  end  of  the  month,  to  examine  the  cataracts  of 


218  MODESTE  MIGNON 

the  countess,  in  order  to  say  if  it  would  be  possible 
to  restore  her  sight. 

A  little  before  the  breakfast  hour  at  the  Chalet, 
the  cracking  of  the  whip  of  a  postilion  reckoning 
upon  a  large  fee,  apprised  the  families  of  the  return 
of  the  soldiers.  A  father's  joy  at  returning  after 
such  a  long  absence  could  alone  cause  such  enthusi- 
asm, and  the  ladies,  therefore,  were  all  assembled 
at  the  small  door.  There  are  so  many  fathers,  so 
many  children, — perhaps  more  fathers  than  children, 
—who  understand  the  intoxication  of  such  a  fete, 
that  literature  happily  has  no  need  to  describe  it! 
For  the  most  beautiful  words, — even  poetry, — are 
inferior  to  these  emotions.  Perhaps,  indeed,  tender 
emotions  are  not  very  literary. 

Not  one  word  that  could  trouble  the  joy  of  the 
Mignon  family  was  spoken  on  this  day.  There  was 
a  truce  between  the  father,  mother  and  the  daugh- 
ter, relative  to  the  mysterious  love  which  had 
blanched  the  cheek  of  Modeste,  who  had  risen  for 
the  first  time.  The  colonel,  with  that  admirable 
delicacy  which  distinguishes  the  true  soldier,  kept 
all  the  time  by  his  wife's  side,  and  her  hand  did  not 
leave  his,  while  he  looked  at  Modeste  admiring  her 
fine,  elegant  and  poetical  beauty,  without  tiring. 
Is  it  not  by  these  little  things  that  people  of  heart 
are  recognized  ?  Modeste,  who  feared  to  trouble 
the  melancholy  joy  of  her  father  and  mother,  came 
from  time  to  time  to  kiss  the  traveler's  forehead, 
and  in  kissing  him  so  often,  she  seemed  to  desire  to 
kiss  him  for  both  daughters. 


MODESTE  MIGNON 


2I9 


"Oh!  dear  little  girl,  I  understand  you !"  said  the 
colonel,  pressing  Modeste's  hand  at  a  moment  when 
she  assailed  him  with  caresses. 

"Hush!"  replied  Modeste  in  his  ear,  pointing  to 
her  mother. 

The  somewhat  artful  silence  of  Dumay  made 
Modeste  anxious  about  the  results  of  his  trip  to 
Paris,  and  she  sometimes  looked  at  the  lieutenant 
unobserved,  without  being  able  to  penetrate  beyond 
his  hard  epidermis.  The  colonel  desired,  as  a  pru- 
dent father,  to  study  the  character  of  his  only  child, 
and  especially  to  consult  his  wife  before  having  a 
conference  upon  which  the  happiness  of  all  the 
family  depended. 

"To-morrow,  my  dearest  child,"  he  said  at  even- 
ing, "rise  early,  and  if  the  weather  is  fine,  we  will 
go  together  for  a  walk  on  the  seashore. — We  have  to 
talk  about  your  poetry,  Mademoiselle  de  laBastie." 

This  sentence,  accompanied  by  a  fatherly  smile 
which  appeared  on  Dumay's  lips  like  an  echo,  was 
all  that  Modeste  could  learn.  But  this  was  enough 
both  to  calm  her  anxieties  and  to  render  her  so 
curious  that  she  could  not  sleep  until  late,  so  many 
were  the  suppositions  she  made.  The  next  day  she 
was  dressed  and  ready  before  the  colonel  was. 

"You  know  all,  my  dear  father,"  she  said  as  soon 
as  they  were  on  the  way  to  the  shore. 

"I  know  all,  and  many  things  that  you  do  not 
know,"  he  replied. 

At  these  words  the  father  and  daughter  walked  a 
few  steps  in  silence. 


220  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Explain  to  me,  my  child,  how  a  girl  adored  by 
her  mother,  could  take  so  weighty  a  step  as  that  of 
writing  to  an  unknown  man,  without  consulting 
her?" 

"Ah!  papa,  because  mama  would  not  have 
allowed  it." 

"Do  you  think,  my  girl,  that  that  is  right?  If 
you  have  fatally  gained  information  all  alone,  why 
has  not  your  reason,  or  your  mind,  in  default  of 
modesty,  told  you  that  in  acting  in  this  manner  you 
were  throwing  yourself  at  a  man's  head?  Is  my 
daughter,  my  sole  and  only  child,  without  pride, 
without  delicacy?  Oh!  Modeste,  you  caused  your 
father  to  pass  two  hours  in  Hell  at  Paris,  for  really, 
morally,  your  conduct  has  been  the  same  as  Bet- 
tina's,  without  having  the  excuse  of  seduction. 
You  have  been  a  coquette  in  cold  blood,  and  coquetry 
is  the  love  of  the  head,  the  most  fearful  vice  of  the 
Frenchwoman." 

"/without  pride," — said  Modeste  weeping,  "but 
he  has  not  yet  seen  me." — 

"He  knows  your  name." — 

"I  only  gave  it  to  him,  when  after  three  months 
of  correspondence  during  which  our  souls  communed, 
my  eyes  confirmed  the  opinion  formed  of  him." 

"Yes,  my  dear  misguided  angel,  it  is  true  that 
you  have  put  a  kind  of  reason  in  a  folly  which  has 
compromised  your  happiness  and  that  of  your 
family.—" 

"After  all,  papa,  happiness  is  the  absolution  of  my 
temerity,"  she  said,  with  a  gesture  of  impatience. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  221 

"Oh!  your  conduct  was  temerity,  was  it?" 

"A  temerity  which  my  mother  allowed  herself," 
she  replied  quickly. 

"Rebellious child!  after  having  seen  me  at  a  ball 
your  mother  said  to  her  father,  who  adored  her,  that 
she  believed  she  could  be  happy  with  me. — Be 
honest,  Modeste,  is  there  any  similarity  between  a 
rapidly  conceived  love,  it  is  true,  but  one  which 
came  under  the  father's  eye,  and  the  foolish  action 
of  writing  to  an  unknown  man?" 

"Unknown! — say,  rather,  father,  one  of  our 
greatest  poets,  whose  character  and  life  are  exposed 
to  the  strongest  light  of  day,  to  criticism  and 
calumny;  a  man  clothed  in  fame,  and  for  whom,  my 
dear  father,  I  was  only  a  dramatic  and  literary  char- 
acter, a  woman  of  Shakspeare,  until  that  moment 
when  I  found  out  that  the  man  was  as  fine  as  his 
soul  was  beautiful — " 

"My  God,  my  poor  child,  you  think  marriage  is 
poetry ;  but  if  from  all  time  daughters  have  been 
cloistered  in  the  family;  if  God,  if  social  law,  has 
kept  them  under  the  severe  yoke  of  paternal  con- 
sentment,  it  was  precisely  to  spare  you  the  sorrows 
which  grow  out  of  this  very  poetry  which  charms 
and  dazzles  you  so  much  that  you  are  not  capable  of 
judging  of  its  true  worth.  Poetry  is  one  of  the 
pleasures  of  life — but  it  is  not  all  of  life." 

"That,  papa,  is  a  suit  still  pending  before  the  tri- 
bunal of  facts,  for  there  is  a  constant  struggle 
between  our  hearts  and  the  family  claims." 

"Heaven  help  the  child  who  finds  her  happiness  in 


222  MODESTE  MIGNON 

resisting  them,"  said  the  colonel  gravely.  "In  1813 
I  saw  one  of  my  comrades,  the  Marquis  d'Aiglemont, 
marry  his  cousin,  against  the  wishes  of  his  father, 
and  that  household  has  paid  dearly  for  the  obstinacy 
which  the  girl  took  for  love. —I  tell  you  the  family 
should  be  sovereign  in  marriage." 

"My  fiance  has  told  me  all  that,"  she  replied. 
"He  played  the  part  of  Orgon  for  some  time,  and  he 
even  had  the  courage  to  deny  the  personal  superi- 
ority of  poets." 

"I  have  read  your  letters,"  said  Charles  Mignon, 
with  a  malicious  little  smile  which  made  Modeste 
very  uneasy,  "and  I  must  say  that  your  last  would 
hardly  have  been  permissible  in  a  seduced  girl — a 
Julie  d'Etanges!  Mon  Dieu!  what  harm  novels 
do!—" 

"If  they  were  not  written,  my  dear  father,  we 
would  live  them  and  it  is  better  to  read  them. 
There  are  fewer  adventures  now  than  in  the  time 
of  Louis  XIV.,  and  Louis  XV.,  when  there  were  not  so 
many  novels  published. — Besides,  if  you  have  read 
the  letters  you  must  have  seen  that  I  have  found 
you  the  most  respectful  son-in-law,  the  most  angelic 
soul  of  the  most  scrupulous  honor,  and  that  we  love 
each  other  at  least  as  much  as  you  and  mama 
loved  each  other. — Ah!  well  I  acknowledge  that 
all  has  not  happened  exactly  according  to  etiquette; 
I  have,  if  you  like,  committed  an  error — " 

"I  have  read  your  letters,"  repeated  the  father, 
interrupting  his  daughter,  "so  I  know  how  far  he 
has  justified  you,  in  your  own  eyes,  for  a  foible 


MODESTE  MIGNON  223 

which  might  have  been  permissible  in  some  women 
who  understand  the  world  and  are  led  on  by  a  grand 
passion,  but  which  in  a  young  girl  of  twenty  is  a 
monstrous  wrong — " 

"A  monstrous  wrong  for  common  people,  for  the 
narrow-minded  Gobenheims  who  measure  by  a  rule, 
— let  us  keep  to  the  artistic  and  poetic  world,  papa. 
— We  young  girls  have  only  two  ways — to  let  a 
man  see  that  we  love  him  by  simpering  and  affec- 
tation or  to  go  to  him  frankly — isn't  the  latter  way 
grander,  nobler?  We  French  girls  are  handed  over 
by  our  families  like  so  much  merchandise,  at  three 
months,  sometimes  at  thirty  days,  like  Mademoiselle 
Vilquin;  but  in  England,  Switzerland  or  Germany 
it  is  managed  much  as  I  have  done — What  can  you 
say  to  that — Am  I  not  half  German  ?" 

"Child!"  cried  the  colonel,  looking  steadily  at 
his  daughter,  "the  superiority  of  France  comes  from 
her  good  sense,  from  the  logic  to  which  her  beautiful 
language  constrains  the  mind.  Thus  she  is  Reason 
for  the  whole  world!  England  and  Germany  are 
romantic  on  this  point  of  their  customs,  and  yet 
their  great  families  follow  our  laws  of  marriage. 
You  surely  do  not  think  that  your  parents,  who 
know  the  world,  who  are  responsible  for  your  soul 
and  your  happiness,  should  not  point  out  to  you  the 
dangers  of  life! — My  God,"  he  said,  "is  it  their 
fault?  is  it  ours?  Ought  we  to  hold  our  children 
under  an  iron  yoke?  Are  we  to  be  punished  for 
that  tenderness  wherewith  we  make  them  happy, 
which  unfortunately  our  hearts  teach  them? — " 


224  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Modeste  watched  her  father  out  of  the  corner  of 
her  eye  while  listening  to  this  kind  of  invocation 
spoken  with  sobs. 

"Is  it  so  wrong  for  a  girl  with  her  heart  free,  to 
choose  for  her  husband  not  only  a  charming  man, 
but  a  man  of  genius,  noble  of  family,  holding  a 
splendid  position — of  gentle  birth — my  equal?"  she 
said. 

"You  love  him?"  asked  her  father. 

"Listen,  father,"  she  said,  leaning  her  head  upon 
the  colonel's  heart,  "if  you  do  not  wish  to  see  me 
die—" 

"Enough!"  said  the  old  soldier,  "your  passion  is, 
I  see,  incurable!" 

"Yes,  incurable." 

"Nothing  can  change  it?" 

"Nothing  in  the  world." 

"No  circumstance,  no  treachery  that  you  can 
imagine,"  repeated  the  old  soldier,  "you  love  him 
in  spite  of  everything,  on  account  of  his  personal 
charm.  If  he  prove  himself  a  d'Estourny  will  you 
still  love  him?" 

"Oh!  father — you  do  not  know  your  daughter. 
Could  I  love  a  coward,  a  man  without  faith,  without 
honor, — a  gallows-bird?" 

"And  if  he  had  deceived  you?" 

"That  charming,  candid  boy  with  the  melancholy 
look  in  his  eyes? — you  are  joking,  father,  or  you 
have  never  seen  him." 

"Ah!  happily  your  love  is  not  absolute,  as  you 
said.  I  have  shown  you  circumstances  which  would 


MODESTE  MIGNON  225 

modify  your  poem. — Do  you  see  now  that  fathers 
are  good  for  something?" — 

"You  want  to  give  your  child  a  lesson,  papa. 
This  is  becoming  the  Morale  en  Action — " 

"Poor  misguided  girl!"  replied  the  father  sternly, 
"the  lesson  does  not  come  from  me.  I  am  here  for 
nothing,  if  not  to  soften  the  blow." 

"Stop,  father,  do  not  play  with  my  life, — "  said 
Modeste  turning  pale. 

"Come,  my  daughter,  summon  all  your  courage. 
It  is  you  who  have  played  with  your  life  and  now 
life  is  making  sport  of  you." 

Modeste  looked  at  her  father  in  stupefied  astonish- 
ment. 

"See  now,  if  the  young  man  whom  you  love, 
whom  you  saw  in  the  church  at  Havre  four  days 
ago  was  a  miserable — " 

"But  he  is  not!"  said  she,  "that  dark,  pale  face, 
that  noble  head  full  of  poetry — " 

"Was  a  lie!"  said  the  colonel  interrupting  her. 
"That  was  no  more  Monsieur  de  Canalis  than  I  am 
that  fisherman  putting  out  to  sea. — " 

"Do  you  know  that  you  are  killing  me?"  said 
Modeste. 

"Reassure  yourself,  my  child;  if  chance  has  put 
your  punishment  in  the  fault  itself,  the  evil  is  not 
irreparable.  The  fellow  you  saw,  with  whom  you 
exchanged  your  heart  in  this  correspondence,  is  a 
loyal  fellow,  he  came  and  confessed  to  me  his  em- 
barrassment ;  he  loves  you  and  I  do  not  object  to  him 
as  a  son-in-law." 
15 


226  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"If  he  is  not  Canal  is,  who  is  he — ?"asked  Mo- 
deste  in  a  greatly  altered  tone. 

"The  secretary — his  name  is  Ernest  de  laBriere. 
He  is  not  of  noble  birth;  but  he  is  one  of  those 
plain  men  of  real  virtue  and  sure  morality  who 
please  parents.  Besides  what  does  it  matter,  you 
have  seen  him,  nothing  can  change  your  heart,  you 
chose  him,  you  know  his  nature  and  it  is  as  beauti- 
ful as  he  is  handsome. — " 

The  Count  de  la  Bastie's  words  were  interrupted 
by  a  sigh  from  Modeste.  The  poor  girl,  pale,  with 
eyes  fixed  on  the  sea,  rigid  as  death,  was  struck  as 
if  by  a  pistol  shot  with  those  fatal  words,  "one  of 
those  plain  men  of  real  virtue  and  sure  morality 
who  please  parents." 

"Deceived! — "  she  said  at  last 

"Like  your  poor  sister,  but  less  gravely." 

"Let  us  go  home,  father,"  she  said,  rising  from 
the  mound  on  which  they  were  seated.  "Hear  me, 
papa,  I  swear  before  God  to  follow  your  will,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  in  the  business  of  my  marriage." 

"Then  you  love  him  no  longer? — "  asked  the 
father  mockingly. 

"I  loved  an  honest  man,  with  no  lie  on  his  face, 
as  honorable  as  yourself,  incapable  of  disguising 
himself  as  an  actor  and  using  the  paint  of  another 
man's  glory  on  his  cheeks. — " 

"You  said  that  nothing  could  change  you,"  said 
the  colonel  ironically. 

"Oh!  do  not  jest  about  it, — "  she  said,  joining 
her  hands  and  looking  at  her  father  with  a  dreadful 


MODESTE  MIGNON  227 

anxiety;  "do  you  not  know  that  you  are  destroying 
my  heart  and  my  most  cherished  beliefs  by  these 
jests? — " 

"God  forbid !     I  have  told  you  the  exact  truth. " 

"You  are  very  good,  father!"  she  said,  after  a 
pause,  with  a  sort  of  solemnity. 

"And  so  he  has  kept  your  letters,  eh?  Suppose 
those  foolish  caresses  of  your  soul  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  one  of  those  poets  who,  according  to 
Dumay,  light  their  cigars  with  them?" 

"Oh!  you  are  going  too  far  now." 

"Canalistold  him  so." 

"He  has  seen  Canalis?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  colonel. 

They  walked  along  for  a  few  moments  in  silence. 

"Ah!  that  is  why  this  gentleman  had  so  much 
that  is  evil  to  say  against  poetry  and  poets !  why 
did  that  little  secretary  speak  of — But,"  she  said 
interrupting  herself,  "his  virtues,  his  qualities,  his 
fine  sentiments  are  only  an  epistolary  costume. — 
He  who  steals  glory  and  a  name  might  well — " 

"Break  locks,  steal  money  and  assassinate  on 
the  public  highway! — "  cried  Charles  Mignon 
smiling.  "That  is  just  like  you  young  girls  with 
your  lofty  sentiments  and  your  utter  ignorance  of 
life!  A  man  who  deceives  a  woman  is,  necessarily, 
a  child  from  the  gallows  and  ought  to  die  on  it— 

This  raillery  stopped  Modeste's  effervescence ;  and 
again  silence  reigned. 

"My  child,"  began  the  colonel, "men  in  society,as 
elsewhere  in  nature,  must  try  to  win  women's  hearts. 


228  MODESTE  MIGNON 

and  you  must  defend  yourselves.  You  have  inverted 
the  role.  Is  that  right?  Everything  is  false  in  a  false 
position — Yours  was  the  first  wrong.  No,  a  man  is 
not  a  monster  because  he  tries  to  please  a  woman, 
and  our  right  permits  to  us  the  aggressive  with  all 
its  consequences  save  crime  and  cowardice.  A  man 
may  have  some  virtues  and  yet  have  deceived  a 
woman,  what  is  generally  said  is  that  he  sought 
some  treasure  in  her  which  he  failed  to  find.  While 
a  queen,  an  actress  or  a  woman  placed  so  high 
above  a  man  that  she  is  a  queen  to  him,  can  go  to 
him  herself  without  blame.  But  a  young  girl ! — 
She  gives  the  lie,  then,  to  all  that  God  has  given 
her  that  is  sacred,  beautiful  or  noble — no  matter 
with  what  grace,  poetry  or  precaution  the  fault  is 
committed." 

"To  seek  again  the  master  and  find  the  servant 
— To  have  played  again  The  Games  of  Love  and 
Chance  on  my  side  only!"  she  said  bitterly :  "oh!  I 
can  never  recover  from  it. — " 

"Nonsense! — Monsieur  Ernest  de  la  Briere  is,  to 
my  mind,  fully  equal  to  the  Baron  de  Canal  is.  He 
has  been  private  secretary  to  a  prime  minister  and 
he  is  counsel  for  the  Cour  des  Comptes ;  he  has  a 
good  heart  and  he  adores  you ;  but  he  does  not  com- 
pose verses. — No,  I  admit  he  is  not  a  poet;  but  he 
may  have  a  heart  full  of  poetry,  for  all  that  At 
any  rate,  my  poor  child,"  he  said,  as  Modeste  made 
a  gesture  of  disgust,  "you  shall  see  them  both,  the 
false  and  the  real  Canal  is. — " 

"Oh!  papa!—" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  22Q 

"Did  you  not  swear  to  obey  me  absolutely  in  the 
business  of  your  marriage?  Well,  you  shall  choose 
which  of  the  two  you  prefer  for  a  husband.  You 
commenced  with  a  poem,  you  shall  finish  by  a 
bucolic,  and  try  to  weigh  the  real  characters  of 
these  gentlemen  in  some  country  excursions,  hunt- 
ing and  fishing." 

Modeste  bowed  her  head  and  went  back  to  the 
Chalet,  listening  to  her  father,  but  replying  only  in 
monosyllables. 


She  had  fallen  from  that  Alpine  height  to  which 
she  had  climbed  in  search  of  her  eagle's  nest,  yes, 
fallen  down  deep  in  the  mud,  crushed  and  humili- 
ated. To  employ  the  poetic  expression  of  an 
author  of  that  time,  "after  having  felt  the  soles  of 
her  feet  too  tender  to  tread  upon  the  fragments  of 
glass  of  Reality,  Fancy,  which  united  all  of  woman 
in  that  frail  breast,  from  the  violet-strewn  dreams 
of  the  modest  young  girl  to  the  intense  passions  of 
the  woman  of  the  world,  had  led  her  in  the  midst 
of  enchanted  gardens  where — oh !  cruel  surprise — she 
saw,  instead  of  this  sublime  flower,  the  hairy, 
crooked  legs  of  the  black  mandragora  spring  from 
the  earth."  Modeste  found  herself  let  down  from 
the  mysterious  heights  of  her  love,  to  the  smooth, 
flat  way,  bordered  with  ditches  and  work,  in  short, 
that  route  paved  with  the  Commonplace.  What 
child  of  an  ardent  soul  would  not  have  been  bruised 
by  such  a  f al  1  ?  At  whose  feet  then  had  she  scattered 
her  words  ? 

The  Modeste  who  re-entered  the  Chalet,  no  more 
resembled  her  who  had  gone  out  two  hours  previ- 
ously, than  the  actress  on  the  street  resembles  the 
heroine  on  the  stage.  She  fell  into  a  dazed  trance 
pitiful  to  see.  The  sun  was  obscured,  nature 
veiled  itself,  the  flowers  no  longer  spoke  to  her. 
Like  all  girls  of  strong  character  she  drank  too 
(231) 


232  MODESTE  MIGNON 

deeply  of  the  cup  of  disenchantment  She  fought 
against  reality  and  was  not  willing  to  yield  her 
neck  to  the  yoke  of  the  family  and  society  which 
she  found  heavy,  hard  and  crushing.  She  did  not 
even  listen  to  the  sympathies  of  her  father  and 
mother  and  felt  a  sort  of  savage  enjoyment  in 
letting  her  soul  suffer  its  full  measure. 

"Poor  Butscha  is  then  right,"  she  said  one 
evening. 

This  indicates  the  distance  she  had  progressed,  in 
a  short  time,  under  the  conduct  of  a  morbid  sadness, 
on  the  arid  plains  of  the  Real.  Sadness  engendered 
by  the  overturning  of  all  one's  hopes  is  a  malady — 
often  a  fatal  one.  It  would  be  no  mean  occupation 
for  physiology  to  find  out  in  what  way,  by  what 
means  a  thought  can  produce  the  same  disorganiza- 
tion as  poison :  how  despair  robs  one  of  appetite, 
destroys  the  pylorus  and  changes  all  the  physical 
conditions  of  the  strongest  life.  Thus  it  was  with 
Modeste.  In  three  days  she  presented  the  spectacle 
of  a  morbid  melancholy,  she  sang  no  more,  and 
could  not  be  made  to  smile — she  frightened  her 
parents  and  friends. 

Charles  Mignon,  becoming  uneasy  at  the  non- 
arrival  of  the  two  friends,  thought  of  going  to  seek 
them,  but  the  fourth  day  Latournelle  brought  him 
the  following  intelligence: 

Canalis,  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  so  rich  a 
marriage,  determined  to  neglect  nothing  by  which 
he  might  supersede  La  Briere  without  giving  cause 
to  the  latter  to  reproach  him  for  a  violation  of 


MODESTE  MIGNON  233 

friendship.  The  poet  judged  that  nothing  brought  a 
lover  into  more  discredit  in  the  eyes  of  a  young  girl 
than  to  show  him  to  her  in  a  subordinate  position, 
and  he  proposed  in  the  simplest  manner  to  La  Briere 
that  they  should  keep  house  together  and  take  a 
little  country  house  for  a  month  at  Ingouville, 
where  they  would  live  under  the  pretext  of  ill- 
health.  As  soon  as  La  Briere,  who,  at  the  first 
moment,  noticed  nothing  unnatural  in  this  proposi- 
tion, had  consented  to  it,  Canal  is  took  it  upon  him- 
self to  pay  the  expenses  of  his  friend,  and  he  alone 
made  the  preparations  for  the  journey.  He  sent  his 
valet  to  Havre  and  advised  him  to  ask  Monsieur 
Latournelle  about  hiring  a  country  house  at  Ingou- 
ville, thinking  that  the  lawyer  would  prattle  about 
it  with  the  Mignon  family.  Ernest  and  Canalis, 
each  thinking  that  he  would  be  successful,  had  dis- 
cussed all  the  circumstances  of  this  adventure,  and 
the  talkative  La  Briere  had  given  his  rival  a  thou- 
sand items  of  information.  The  valet,  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  intentions  of  his  master,  carried 
them  out  to  perfection;  he  trumpeted  the  arrival 
of  the  great  poet  at  Havre,  to  whom  the  physi- 
cians had  ordered  salt-water  bathing  to  repair  his 
strength,  which  was  exhausted  by  the  double  work 
of  politics  and  literature.  This  grand  personage 
wished  a  house  composed  of  very  many  rooms,  for 
he  brought  with  him  his  secretary,  a  cook,  two  ser- 
vants and  a  coachman,  without  counting  Monsieur 
Germain  Bonnet,  his  valet  The  open  carriage 
chosen  by  the  poet  and  hired  by  the  month,  was 


234  MODESTE  MIGNON 

pretty  enough  and  would  serve  for  the  drives ;  there- 
fore Germain  tried  to  find  near  Havre  two  horses 
suitable  for  riding  or  driving,  as  Monsieur  le  Baron 
and  his  secretary  loved  horseback  riding.  Ger- 
main in  visiting  the  country  houses,  dwelt  much 
upon  the  secretary  before  Monsieur  Latournelle, 
and  he  refused  two  houses,  objecting  that  Monsieur 
de  la  Briere  would  not  be  properly  accommodated  in 
them. 

"Monsieur  the  Baron,"  he  said,  "has  made  his 
secretary  his  best  friend.  Ah!  I  should  be  well 
scolded  if  Monsieur  de  la  Briere  was  not  as  well 
treated  as  Monsieur  the  Baron  himself!  And  after 
all,  Monsieur  de  la  Briere  is  auditor  at  the  Cour  des 
Comptes. " 

Germain  was  never  seen  except  clothed  all  in 
black,  his  hands  well  gloved,  well  booted,  and 
dressed  like  a  master.  Judge  what  an  effect  he 
produced  and  what  an  idea  one  gained  of  the  poet 
from  this  sample!  The  valet  of  a  man  of  intellect 
ends  by  having  intellect,  for  the  mind  of  the  master 
ends  by  impressing  itself  upon  the  servant  Ger- 
main did  not  overdo  his  role;  he  was  simple,  he  was 
kindly,  according  to  Canalis's  advice.  Poor  La 
Briere  did  not  suspect  the  harm  which  Germain  was 
doing  to  him,  nor  the  depreciation  to  which  he  had 
consented,  for  from  these  lower  classes  of  society 
there  mounted  to  Modeste  some  fragments  of  the 
public  rumor.  Therefore  Canal  is  was  going  to  take 
his  friend  in  his  retinue,  in  his  carriage,  and 
Ernest's  character  did  not  allow  him  to  recognize 


MODESTE  MIGNON  235 

the  falseness  of  his  position  in  time  to  remedy  it 
The  delay  which  fretted  Charles  Mignon,  arose 
from  Canalis  having  his  coat  of  arms  painted  upon 
the  panels  of  his  carriage,  and  from  his  orders  to 
his  tailor,  for  the  poet  availed  himself  of  the  great 
number  of  these  details,  the  least  of  which  may  in- 
fluence a  young  girl. 

"Be  contented,"  said  Latournelle  to  Charles 
Mignon  on  the  fifth  day.  "Monsieur  Canal is's 
valet  has  concluded  a  bargain  this  morning;  he  has 
hired,  all  furnished,  the  pavilion  of  Madame  Amaury 
at  Sanvic,  for  seven  hundred  francs,  and  he  has 
written  to  his  master  that  he  may  start  and  that  he 
will  find  everything  in  readiness  upon  his  arrival. 
Therefore,  these  gentlemen  will  be  here  on  Sunday. 
I  have  even  received  the  following  letter  from  But- 
scha. — See,  it  is  not  long:  'My  dear  master.  I  can- 
not return  before  Sunday.  I  have,  between  this 
and  then,  to  learn  some  very  important  information 
concerning  the  happiness  of  a  person  in  whom  you 
interest  yourself.'  " 

The  announcement  of  the  arrival  of  these  two 
personages  did  not  make  Modeste  less  sad ;  the  idea 
of  her  fall  and  her  confusion  still  dominated  her,  for 
she  was  not  the  coquette  that  her  father  believed. 
There  is  a  charming  coquetry  which  is  permissible: 
that  of  the  soul,  and  which  may  be  called  the  polite- 
ness of  love;  but  Charles  Mignon,  in  scolding  his 
daughter,  had  not  distinguished  between  the  desire 
to  please,  and  the  love  of  the  head, — between  the 
thirst  of  loving,  and  that  of  calculation.  As  a  true 


236  MODESTE  MIGNON 

colonel  of  the  Empire,  he  had  seen  in  this  cor- 
respondence rapidly  read,  a  daughter  who  had 
thrown  herself  at  a  poet's  head;  but  in  the  letters 
which  have  been  suppressed  to  shorten  the  story,  a 
connoisseur  would  have  admired  the  modest  and 
gracious  reserve  which  Modeste  had  promptly  sub- 
stituted for  the  aggressive  and  light  tone  of  her  first 
letters,  by  a  transition  natural  enough  for  a  woman. 
Her  father  had  been  cruelly  right  upon  one  point 
Modeste's  last  letter,  impressed  with  an  intense 
love,  had  spoken  as  if  the  marriage  were  already 
arranged;  this  letter  caused  her  shame;  therefore 
she  found  her  father  very  hard,  very  cruel,  to  force 
her  to  receive  a  man  unworthy  of  her,  towards 
whom  her  untrammeled  soul  had  flown.  She  had 
questioned  Dumay  about  his  interview  with  the 
poet;  ingeniously  she  had  made  him  tell  her  its 
smallest  details;  and  she  did  not  find  Canalis  as 
barbarous  as  the  lieutenant  had.  She  smiled  at 
that  lovely  papal  casket  which  held  the  letters  from 
the  thousand  and  one  admirers  of  this  literary  Don 
Juan.  She  was  several  times  tempted  to  say  to  her 
father:"!  am  not  the  only  woman  who  wrote  to 
him;  the  best  of  women  send  leaves  for  the  poet's 
laurel  wreath!" 

During  this  week,  Modeste's  character  underwent 
a  transformation.  This  catastrophe, — and  it  was  a 
great  one  in  a  nature  so  poetical, — awakened  the 
clear-sightedness,  the  malice  latent  in  this  young 
girl,  in  whom  the  aspirants  for  her  hand  were  going 
to  encounter  a  terrible  adversary.  In  short,  when 


MODESTE  MIGNON  237 

the  heart  of  a  woman  grows  cold,  her  reason  becomes 
sound ;  then  she  observes  everything  with  a  certain 
rapidity  of  judgment,  with  a  tone  of  pleasantry 
which  Shakspeare  has  depicted  so  admirably  in  the 
person  of  Beatrice  in  Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 
Modeste  was  seized  with  a  profound  disgust  for 
men,  of  whom  the  most  distinguished  deceived  her 
hopes.  That  which  a  woman  takes  for  disgust,  in 
love,  is  simply  seeing  justly;  but  in  the  matter  of 
sentiment  she  is  never — especially  if  a  young  girl 
— able  to  see  clearly.  If  she  does  not  admire,  she 
despises.  Now,  after  having  submitted  to  the  most 
unheard-of  sorrows,  Modeste  naturally  buckled  on 
this  armor  upon  which  she  had  once  said  was  en- 
graved the  word  DISDAIN.  Henceforth,  she  could 
assist  as  a  disinterested  person  at  what  she  called 
the  farce  of  lovers,  although  she  was  to  enact  the 
role  of  the  leading  lady  in  it.  She  proposed,  above 
all  else,  constantly  to  humiliate  Monsieur  de  la 
Briere. 

"Modeste  is  saved,"  said  Madame  Mignon  to  her 
husband,  smilingly.  "She  wishes  to  avenge  her- 
self upon  the  false  Canalis  by  trying  to  love  the 
real  one." 

Such  was  indeed  Modeste's  plan:  It  was  so  vul- 
gar that  her  mother  to  whom  she  confided  her 
chagrin,  advised  her  to  show  only  the  most  over- 
whelming goodness  to  Monsieur  de  la  Briere. 


* 

"Here  are  two  fellows,"  said  Madame  Latournelle 
on  Saturday  evening,  "who  do  not  suspect  the 
number  of  spies  whom  they  will  have  at  their  heels, 
for  there  are  eight  of  us  to  unmask  them." 

"What's  that  you  say?  Two,  my  dear?"  ex- 
claimed the  little  Latournelle.  "There are  three  of 
them.  Gobenheim  has  not  come  yet  I  can  speak 
out" 

Modeste  raised  her  head,  and  everyone  else,  imi- 
tating Modeste,  looked  at  the  lawyer. 

"A  third  lover,  and  he  is  one,  puts  himself  in  the 
ranks — " 

"Ah,  bah! — "  said  Charles  Mignon. 

"But  it  is  a  question  of  no  less  a  person,"  replied 
the  lawyer  pompously,  "than  that  of  His  Lordship, 
Monsieur  le  Due  d'Herouville,  Marquis  of  Saint- 
Sever,  Due  de  Nivron,  Comte  de  Bayeux,  Viscomte 
d'Essigny,  Grand  Equerry  of  France  and  a  peer, 
Chevalier  of  the  orders  of  the  Spur  and  of  the 
Golden  Fleece,  a  Grandee  of  Spain  and  the  son  of 
the  last  Governor  of  Normandy.  He  saw  Made- 
moiselle Modeste  during  his  visit  to  the  Vilquins, 
and  he  regretted  then,  said  his  lawyer  who  came 
from  Bayeux  yesterday,  that  she  was  not  rich 
enough  for  him,  for  his  father,  upon  his  return  to 
France,  had  secured  only  his  chateau  of  Herouville, 
and  that  saddled  with  a  sister.  The  young  duke 
(239) 


240  MODESTE  MIGNON 

is  thirty-three  years  old.  I  am  positively  ordered 
to  make  you  proposals,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  said 
the  lawyer  as  he  turned  respectfully  towards  the 
count 

"Ask  Modeste,"  replied  the  father,  "if  she  wishes 
still  another  bird  in  her  aviary,  for  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  I  consent  to  this  Grand  Equerry  paying 
his  attentions  to  her." 

Notwithstanding  the  care  which  Charles  Mignon 
took  to  see  no  one,  to  remain  at  the  Chalet  and  not 
to  go  out  without  Modeste,  Gobenheim,  whom  it 
would  have  been  difficult  to  receive  no  longer  at  the 
Chalet,  had  talked  of  Dumay's  fortune,  for  Dumay, 
this  second  father  to  Modeste,  had  said  to  Goben- 
heim in  leaving  him: 

"I  shall  be  my  colonel's  steward,  and  all  my  for- 
tune, outside  of  that  which  my  wife  will  keep  of  it, 
will  be  for  the  children  of  my  little  Modeste." 

Everyone  at  Havre  had  then  asked  this  very  sim- 
ple question,  as  Latournelle  had  already  done: 

"Must  not  Charles  Mignon  have  a  colossal  for- 
tune, that  Dumay's  portion  is  six  hundred  thousand 
francs,  and  for  Dumay  to  be  his  steward?" 

"Monsieur  Mignon  came  on  his  own  ship  laden 
with  indigo,"  was  said  on  Change.  "This  cargo  is 
already  worth  more,  without  counting  the  ship, 
than  he  says  his  fortune  amounts  to." 

The  colonel  did  not  wish  to  send  away  his  ser- 
vants, chosen  with  so  much  care  during  his  jour- 
neys, and  he  was  obliged  to  hire  a  house  for  six 
months  out  of  Ingouville,  for  he  had  a  valet,  a  cook 


MODESTE  MIGNON  241 

and  coachman,  both  negroes,  a  mulatto  woman  a^3 
two  mulattoes  upon  whose  fidelity  he  could  depend. 
The  coachman  sought  for  saddle  horses  for  made- 
moiselle and  for  his  master,  and  horses  for  the  car- 
riage in  which  the  colonel  and  lieutenant  had 
returned.  This  carriage,  bought  in  Paris,  was  the 
latest  fashion,  and  bore  the  coat  of  arms  of  La 
Bastie  surmounted  with  a  count's  coronet  These 
things,  most  trivial  to  the  eyes  of  a  man  who  dur- 
ing four  years  had  lived  in  the  midst  of  the  unre- 
strained luxury  of  the  Indies,  of  the  merchants  of 
Hong  Kong  and  of  the  English  at  Canton,  were 
commented  upon  by  the  merchants  and  people  of 
Havre,  Graville  and  Ingouville.  In  five  days  a 
startling  rumor  had  been  spread,  which  in  Nor- 
mandy had  the  effect  of  a  powder  train  when  it 
takes  fire. 

"Monsieur  Mignon  has  returned  from  China  with 
millions,"  they  said  at  Rouen,  "and  it  appears  that 
he  became  a  count  on  his  travels." 

"But  he  was  the  Comte  de  la  Bastie  before  the 
Revolution,"  replied  a  questioner. 

"How?  Is  a  liberal,  who  for  twenty-five  years 
was  called  Charles  Mignon,  to  be  called  Monsieur  le 
Comte  ? — To  what  are  we  coming?" 

Modeste  was  then  considered,  in  spite  of  the 
silence  of  her  parents  and  friends,  to  be  the  richest 
heiress  of  Normandy,  and  all  eyes,  therefore,  re- 
marked her  charms.  The  aunt  and  the  sister  of  the 
Due  d'Herouville  confirmed  at  Bayeux  in  a  full 
drawing-room,  the  right  of  Monsieur  Charles  Mignon 

16 


242  MODESTE  MIGNON 

to  the  title  and  coat  of  arms  of  the  count,  due  to 
Cardinal  Mignon,  whose  hat  and  tassel  were  adopted 
through  gratitude  as  a  crest  and  supporters.  They 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie 
from  the  Vilquins,  and  their  solicitude  for  the  head 
of  their  impoverished  house  had  immediately 
awakened. 

"If  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie  is  as  rich  as  she 
is  handsome,"  said  the  young  duke's  aunt,  "she 
would  be  the  finest  match  in  the  province;  and  she 
belongs  to  the  nobility,  at  least" 

This  last  phrase  was  said  against  the  Vilquins, 
with  whom  they  had  not  been  able  to  come  to  any 
understanding,  after  having  had  the  humiliation  of 
visiting  them. 

Such  are  the  insignificant  events  which  are  to  in- 
troduce one  more  personage  into  this  domestic  scene, 
contrary  to  the  laws  of  Aristotle  and  Horace;  but 
the  portrait  and  biography  of  this  personage,  arriv- 
ing on  the  scene  so  late,  will  not  take  much  time, 
judged  by  its  diminutiveness.  Monsieur  le  Due  will 
occupy  as  little  place  here  as  he  holds  in  history. 
His  Lordship,  Monsieur  le  Due  d'Herouville,  the 
fruit  of  a  late  marriage  of  the  last  Governor  of  Nor- 
mandy, was  born  at  Vienna  during  a  time  of  emi- 
gration in  1796.  Having  returned  with  the  king  in 
1814,  the  aged  marshal,  the  father  of  the  present 
duke,  died  in  1819  without  having  been  able  to 
marry  his  son,  although  he  was  the  Due  de  Nivron. 
He  left  him  only  the  immense  Chateau  of  Herouville, 
the  park,  some  dependencies  and  a  farm  which  was 


MODESTE  MIGNON  243 

redeemed  at  great  pains;  in  all  an  income  of  fifteen 
thousand  francs.  Louis  XVIII.  conferred  the  office 
of  Grand  Equerry  on  the  son,  who,  under  Charles 
X.,  had  the  pension  of  twelve  thousand  francs, 
granted  to  the  poor  peers  of  France.  But  what  was 
the  salary  of  a  Grand  Equerry  and  an  income  of 
tweny-seven  thousand  francs  for  this  family?  In 
Paris,  it  is  true,  the  young  duke  had  the  use  of  the 
king's  carriages,  his  hotel  in  the  Rue  Saint-Thomas 
du  Louvre, — a  perquisite  of  the  Grand  Equerry, — 
but  his  salary  just  paid  the  expenses  of  his  winter 
and  the  twenty-seven  thousand  francs  his  summer 
expenses  in  Normandy.  If  this  great  personage  still 
remained  unmarried,  it  was  less  his  fault  than  that 
of  his  aunt,  who  was  not  versed  in  La  Fontaine's 
fables.  Mademoiselle  d'Herouville  had  enormous 
pretensions,  not  in  accord  with  the  spirit  of  the  age, 
for  those  with  great  names  and  little  money  could 
hardly  find  rich  heiresses  in  the  highest  French 
nobility,  who  were  already  much  embarrassed  to 
provide  for  their  ruined  sons  through  the  equal 
division  of  property.  To  marry  the  young  Due 
d'Herouville  advantageously,  it  would  have  been 
necessary  to  have  fawned  upon  the  great  banking 
houses,  and,  instead,  the  haughty  daughter  of  the 
d'Herouvilles  wounded  them  all  with  cutting 
speeches.  During  the  first  years  of  the  Restoration, 
from  1817  to  1825,  although  seeking  for  millions, 
Mademoiselle  d'Herouville  refused  Mademoiselle 
Mongenod,  daughter  of  the  banker, — whom  Mon- 
sieur de  Fontaine  was  pleased  to  accept 


244  MODESTE  MIGNON 

At  last,  after  several  fine  opportunities  lost 
through  her  fault,  she  found  now  that  the  fortune  of 
the  Nucingens  was  too  basely  gained  to  lend  her- 
self to  the  ambition  of  Madame  de  Nucingen,  who 
wished  to  make  her  daughter  a  duchess.  The  king 
in  his  desire  to  restore  the  d'Herouvilles  to  their 
former  splendor,  had  almost  arranged  this  mar- 
riage, and  he  publicly  reproached  Mademoiselle 
d'Herouville  with  foolishness.  Thus  the  aunt  made 
her  nephew  ridiculous,  and  the  duke  lent  himself 
to  the  ridicule.  In  short,  when  great  human  things 
dwindle  away,  they  leave  behind  them  crumbs, 
frusteaux,  as  Rabelais  would  say,  and  the  French 
nobility  show  us  too  many  such  remnants  in  this 
century.  Certainly,  neither  the  clergy  nor  the 
nobility  have  a  right  to  complain  in  that  long  his- 
tory of  manners  and  customs.  The  two  great  and 
magnificent  social  necessities  have  been  represented 
in  it;  but  would  it  not  be  well  to  renounce  the  fine 
title  of  historian  if  one  were  not  impartial,  if  one 
did  not  show  here  the  degeneration  of  the  race,  as 
you  will  find  elsewhere  in  the  figure  of  the  refugee 
in  the  Count  of  Mortsauf, — see  The  Lily  of  the  Valley, 
— and  the  flower  of  the  nobility  in  the  Marquis 
d'Espard, — see  I' Inter  diction.  How  did  the  race  of 
the  strong  and  the  valorous  men  of  the  proud  house 
of  Herouville,  which  gave  the  famous  marshal  to 
royalty,  cardinals  to  the  church,  captains  to  the 
Valois,  doughty  knights  to  Louis  XIV., — how  did  it 
end  in  such  a  frail  being,  smaller  even  than  But- 
scha?  That  is  a  question  which  is  asked  in  many 


MODESTE  MIGNON  245 

drawing-rooms  in  Paris,  when  one  hears  announced 
more  than  one  great  name  of  France,  and  sees  enter 
a  little,  spare,  puny  man,  who  is  scarcely  able  to 
breathe;  or  some  premature  old  man;  or  some  odd 
creation  in  whom  the  observer  seeks  in  vain  a  trace 
by  which  the  imagination  can  discover  the  signs  of 
former  grandeur.  The  dissipations  of  the  reign  of 
Louis  XV.,  the  orgies  of  this  selfish  and  fatal  time, 
have  produced  this  exhausted  generation,  in  which 
the  manners  alone  survive  great  vanished  qualities, 
— forms  which  are,  indeed,  the  only  heritage  that 
the  nobles  preserve.  Therefore  the  abandonment 
in  which  Louis  XVI.  was  allowed  to  perish  may  be 
explained,  with  some  exceptions,  as  the  result  of 
the  wretched  reign  of  Madame  de  Pompadour. 

Blond,  pale  and  thin,  with  blue  eyes,  the  Grand 
Equerry  was  not  wanting  in  a  certain  dignity  of 
thought;  but  his  small  stature  and  the  mistakes  of 
his  aunt,  who  had  induced  him  to  waste  his  ad- 
dresses in  vain  on  a  Vilquin,  gave  him  excessive 
timidity.  Already  the  d'Herouville  family  had 
almost  perished  through  the  fact  of  an  abor- 
tion.—See  The  Cursed  Child.  PHILOSOPHICAL 
STUDIES — The  Great  Marshal — for  so  they  called 
the  man  whom  Louis  XIII.  had  created  a  duke — 
had  married  at  eighty-two  years  of  age  and 
naturally  the  family  had  continued.  Although  the 
young  duke  loved  women,  he  placed  them  too  high ; 
he  admired  them  too  much;  he  adored  them,  and  he 
was  at  his  ease  only  with  those  whom  he  could  not 
respect.  This  characteristic  had  caused  him  to  lead 


246  MODESTE  MIGNON 

a  life  that  in  some  respects  was  double.  He  took 
his  revenge  with  the  courtesans  for  the  adorations 
to  which  he  gave  himself  up  in  the  salons,— or,  if 
you  will,  in  the  boudoirs  of  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain.  These  manners  and  his  small-  stature, 
his  sickly  face  and  his  blue  eyes  upturned  ecstatic- 
ally, had  added  very  unjustly  to  the  ridicule  made 
about  his  person,  for  he  was  full  of  delicacy  and 
intelligence;  but  his  wit,  which  lacked  sparkle, 
manifested  itself  only  when  he  felt  himself  at  ease. 
Thus  Fanny  Beaupre,  the  actress  who,  it  was  said, 
was  his  best  friend, — at  the  price  of  gold, — said  of 
him: 

"It  is  good  wine,  but  so  well  corked  that  one 
breaks  her  corkscrews  in  opening  the  bottle." 

The  beautiful  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  whom 
the  Grand  Equerry  could  only  adore,  overwhelmed 
him  with  a  saying  which  like  all  good  slanderous 
things,  was  unfortunately  repeated: 

"He  gives  me  the  idea,"  she  said,  "of  a  jewel 
beautifully  cut,  which  one  exhibits  far  oftener  than 
one  wears,  and  which  remains  in  the  jeweler's  cot- 
ton." 

There  was  nothing  even  to  the  name  of  the  office 
of  the  Grand  Equerry,  which  did  not  make  the  good 
Charles  X.  laugh,  although  the  Due  d'Herouville 
was  an  excellent  rider,  which  justified  the  appoint- 
ment Men  are  like  books;  they  are  sometimes 
appreciated  too  late.  Modeste  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  Due  d'Herouville  during  the  unfruitful  stay 
which  he  had  made  at  the  Vilquins,  and  as  she  had 


MODESTE  MIGNON  247 

seen  him  pass,  all  these  reflections  had  come  to  her 
mind,  almost  involuntarily.  But,  in  the  circum- 
stances in  which  she  found  herself,  she  well  under- 
stood that  the  addresses  of  the  Due  d'Herouville 
were  important  to  her,  so  as  not  to  be  at  the  mercy 
of  any  Canal  is. 

"I  do  not  see  why,"  she  said  to  Latournelle,  "the 
Due  d'Herouville  should  not  be  admitted.  I  pass, 
notwithstanding  our  indigence,"  she  continued, 
looking  at  her  father  mischievously,  "for  an  heiress. 
Therefore  I  will  finish  by  publishing  a  bulletin. — 
Have  you  not  noticed  how  Gobenheim's  glances 
have  changed  since  a  week  ago?  He  is  disconsolate 
at  not  being  able  to  place  his  whist  parties  to  the 
score  of  a  mute  adoration  for  my  charms." 

"Hush,  my  sweetheart,"  said  Madame  Latour- 
nelle. "Here  he  is!" 

"Father  Althor  is  in  despair,"  said  Gobenheim  to 
Monsieur  Mignon  as  he  entered. 

"Why?"  asked  the  Comte  de  la  Bastie. 

"Vilquin,"  he  said,  "is  going  to  fail,  and  on  the 
Exchange  you  are  believed  to  be  worth  several  mil- 
lions—" 

"No  one  knows,"  replied  Charles  Mignon, 
sharply,  "what  my  liabilities  are  in  India,  and  I  do 
not  care  to  take  the  public  into  my  confidence  about 
my  affairs.  Dumay,"  he  said  in  his  friend's  ear, 
"if  Vilquin  is  embarrassed,  we  could  return  to  my 
country  house,  by  giving  him  the  price  in  ready 
cash  which  he  paid  for  it." 

Such  was  the  condition  of  things,  due  to  chance, 


248  MODESTE  MIGNON 

in  the  midst  of  which  Canal  is  and  La  Briere  ar- 
rived, with  a  courier  in  advance,  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing at  Madame  Amaury's  pavilion.  It  was  learned 
that  the  Due  d'Herouville,  his  sister  and  his  aunt, 
were  to  arrive  on  Tuesday,  under  pretext  of  ill- 
health,  at  a  hired  house  at  Graville.  This  compe- 
tition caused  it  to  be  said  on  Change  that,  thanks  to 
Mademoiselle  Mignon,  rents  at  Ingouville  were 
going  to  rise. 

"She  will  make  a  hospital  of  the  place,  if  this 
continues,"  said  the  younger  Mademoiselle  Vilquin, 
in  despair  at  not  being  a  duchess. 

The  everlasting  comedy  of  The  Heiress,  which 
was  to  be  enacted  at  the  Chalet,  would  surely,  in 
the  situation  in  which  Modeste  found  herself,  and 
after  her  pleasantry,  be  named  The  Program  of  a 
Young  Girl,  for  she  had  positively  decided,  after 
losing  her  illusions,  to  give  her  hand  only  to  the 
man  whose  qualities  satisfied  her  entirely. 

The  day  following  their  arrival,  the  two  rivals, 
still  intimate  friends,  made  their  preparations  to 
appear  at  the  Chalet  in  the  evening.  They  had 
devoted  all  of  Sunday  and  Monday  morning  to 
their  unpacking;  to  taking  possession  of  Madame 
Amaury's  pavilion,  and  to  those  arrangements 
which  a  month's  sojourn  necessitated.  Moreover, 
authorized  by  his  position  of  a  minister's  apprentice 
to  allow  himself  many  of  the  actions  of  a  roue,  the 
poet  calculated  everything;  he  desired  to  profit  by 
the  probable  noise  which  his  arrival  at  Havre  would 
make,  some  echoes  of  which  would  reach  the 


MODESTE  MIGNON  249 

Chalet  In  his  character  of  a  man  needing  rest, 
Canal  is  did  not  go  out  La  Briere  went  to  walk 
twice  before  the  Chalet,  for  he  loved  with  a  kind  of 
despair,  and  having  a  profound  terror  of  having  dis- 
pleased Modeste,  his  future  seemed  to  him  to  be 
covered  with  thick  clouds.  The  two  friends  came 
down  to  dinner  on  Monday,  both  dressed  for  their 
first  visit, — the  most  important  of  all.  La  Briere 
was  dressed  as  he  had  been  on  that  famous  Sunday 
at  church;  but  he  thought  of  himself  as  the  satel- 
lite of  a  planet,  and  abandoned  himself  to  the 
chances  of  his  situation.  Canalis  had  omitted 
neither  his  black  coat,  his  decorations,  nor  that  ele- 
gance of  the  salon  which  had  been  brought  to  per- 
fection by  his  intercourse  with  the  Duchesse  de 
Chaulieu,  his  protectress,  and  with  the  best  society 
of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  Canalis  had  ob- 
served every  detail  of  dandyism;  while  poor  La 
Briere  was  going  to  show  himself  in  all  the  negli- 
gence of  a  man  without  hope. 

In  serving  his  two  masters  at  table,  Germain 
could  not  help  smiling  at  this  contrast  At  the 
second  course,  he  entered  with  a  very  diplomatic, 
or  to  express  it  better,  an  anxious  air. 

"Does Monsieur  le  Baron  know,"  he  said  to  Ca- 
nalis in  a  low  tone,  "that  the  Grand  Equerry  comes 
to  Graville  to  cure  himself  of  the  same  malady 
which  has  attacked  Monsieur  de  la  Briere  and  Mon- 
sieur le  Baron?" 

"The  little  Due  d'Herouville?"  exclaimed  Ca- 
nalis. 


250  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Yes,  monsieur." 

"He  comes  for  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie?"  asked 
La  Briere,  blushing. 

"For  Mademoiselle  Mignon!"  replied   Germain. 

"We  are  tricked!"  exclaimed  Canalis,  looking  at 
La  Briere. 

"Ah!"  replied  Ernest  quickly,  "that  is  the  first 
time  since  our  departure  that  you  have  said  we. 
Until  now  it  has  been  //  " 

"You  understand  me,"  replied  Melchior,  bursting 
into  a  peal  of  laughter.  "But  we  are  not  in  a  state 
to  fight  against  one  of  the  great  offices  of  the  crown, 
against  the  title  of  duke  and  peer,  nor  against  the 
swamp  which  the  Council  of  State  has  just  con- 
ferred, upon  my  report,  on  the  house  of  Herouville." 

"His  lordship,"  said  La  Briere,  with  a  malicious- 
ness full  of  seriousness,  "will  offer  you  a  bit  of  con- 
solation in  the  person  of  his  sister." 

At  this  moment,  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Bastie 
was  announced.  The  two  young  men  arose  upon 
hearing  it,  and  La  Briere  went  quickly  toward  him 
in  order  to  present  Canalis  to  him. 

"I  wish  to  return  the  visit  which  you  made  me 
at  Paris,"  said  Charles  Mignon  to  the  young  secre- 
tary, "and  I  knew  that  in  coming  here  I  should 
have  the  double  pleasure  of  seeing  one  of  the  great 
poets  of  our  day." 

"Great,  monsieur?"  replied  the  poet  smiling; 
"there  can  be  nothing  great  in  a  century  to  which 
the  reign  of  Napoleon  served  as  a  preface.  In  the 
first  place,  we  are  a  horde  of  self-styled  great  poets  I 


MODESTE  MIGNON  251 

— Then  secondary  talents  play  at  genius  so  well 
that  they  have  rendered  all  great  fame  impossible." 

"Is  it  for  that  reason  that  you  throw  yourself  into 
politics?"  asked  the  Comte  de  la  Bastie. 

"It  is  the  same  in  that  sphere,"  said  the  poet. 
"There  are  no  longer  great  statesmen;  there  are 
only  men  who  meddle  more  or  less  with  events. 
Look,  monsieur,  under  the  government  which  the 
Charter  has  given  us,  which  makes  more  of  the 
taxes  than  of  a  coat  of  arms,  that  alone  is  solid 
which  you  went  to  seek  in  China, — a  fortune." 

Satisfied  with  himself  and  contented  with  the 
impression  which  he  had  made  upon  his  future 
father-in-law,  Melchior  turned  toward  Germain. 

"Serve  the  coffee  in  the  salon,"  he  said  as  he  in- 
vited the  merchant  to  leave  the  dining-room. 

"I  thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Comte,"  then  said 
La  Briere,  "for  thus  saving  me  the  embarrassment 
which  I  should  have  felt  in  introducing  my  friend 
at  your  home.  You  have  mind  as  well  as  a  great 
heart." 

"Bah!  The  mind  of  all  men  of  Provence,"  said 
Charles  Mignon. 

"Ah,  you  are  from  Provence?"  exclaimed  Ca- 
nal is. 

"Pardon  my  friend,"  said  La  Briere;  "he  has 
not,  like  myself,  studied  the  history  of  the  La 
Basties." 

At  the  word  friend,  Canal  is  cast  a  searching  look 
upon  Ernest 

"If  your  health  will  permit,"  said  the  Provencal 


252  MODESTE  MIGNON 

to  the  grea  poet,  "I  claim  the  honor  of  receiving 
you  this  evening  under  my  roof,  and  it  will  be  a 
day  to  mark,  as  the  ancient  says,  albo  notanda 
lapitto.  Although  we  may  be  somewhat  embar- 
rassed to  receive  so  great  a  glory  in  so  small  a 
house,  you  will  satisfy  the  impatience  of  my  daugh- 
ter, whose  admiration  for  you  goes  so  far  even  as  to 
set  your  verses  to  music." 

"You  have  more  than  glory,"  said  Canalis. 
"You  possess  beauty  there,  if  I  may  believe 
Ernest." 

"Oh!  a  good  girl  whom  you  will  find  very  pro- 
vincial,"  said  Charles. 

"A  provincial  girl  sought  in  marriage  by  the  Due 
d'Herouville,  it  is  said!"  exclaimed  Canalis  dryly. 

"Oh!"  replied  Monsieur  Mignon  with  the  per- 
fidious good  nature  of  a  Southerner,  "I  leave  my 
daughter  free.  Dukes,  princes,  ordinary  indi- 
viduals,— all  are  the  same  to  me;  even  a  man  of 
genius.  I  will  enter  into  no  engagement,  and  the 
man  whom  Modeste  will  choose  shall  be  my  son-in- 
law, — or  rather,  my  son,"  he  said,  looking  at  La 
Briere.  "What  can  I  do?  Madame  de  la  Bastie  is 
a  German  and  she  does  not  believe  in  our  etiquette, 
and  I  allow  myself  to  be  led  by  my  two  women.  I 
have  always  preferred  to  be  in  the  carriage  than 
upon  the  box.  We  can  talk  of  these  serious  things 
with  a  laugh,  for  we  have  not  yet  seen  the  Due 
d'Herouville,  and  I  believe  no  more  in  the  mar- 
riages made  by  proxy  than  in  the  lovers  arranged 
by  parents." 


MODESTE  MIGNON  253 

"That  is  a  declaration  as  desperate  as  encour- 
aging for  two  young  men  who  desire  to  find  the 
philosopher's  stone  of  happiness  in  marriage,"  said 
Canal  is. 

"Do  you  not  believe  it  is  useful,  necessary  and 
politic  to  stipulate  the  perfect  liberty  of  the  parents, 
the  girl  and  her  wooers?"  asked  Charles  Mignon. 

Canal  is,  at  a  look  from  La  Briere,  was  silent,  and 
the  conversation  became  trivial,  and  after  several 
turns  in  the  garden  the  father  withdrew,  calculating 
upon  the  visit  of  the  two  friends. 

"That  is  our  dismissal!"  exclaimed  Canal  is. 
"You  understood  it  as  well  as  I  did.  Besides,  were 
I  in  his  place,  I  would  not  hesitate  between  the 
Grand  Equerry  and  us,  however  charming  we  may 
be." 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  replied  La  Briere.  "I  be- 
lieve this  brave  soldier  came  to  satisfy  his  impa- 
tience to  see  you  and  to  declare  his  neutrality  to  us, 
even  in  opening  his  house  to  us.  Modeste,  capti- 
vated by  your  glory  and  deceived  in  my  person- 
ality, simply  finds  herself  between  poetry  and 
reality.  I  have  the  misfortune  to  be  the  reality." 

"Germain,  "said  Canal  is  to  his  valet,  who  came 
in  to  take  away  the  coffee  cups,  "have  the  horses 
harnessed.  We  will  start  in  a  half-hour  and  take  a 
drive  before  going  to  the  Chalet." 


The  two  young  men  were  equally  impatient  to 
see  Modeste,  but  La  Briere  dreaded  the  interview 
and  Canal  is  went  to  it  with  a  confidence  full  of  self- 
conceit  Ernest's  warmth  toward  the  father,  and 
the  flattery  with  which  he  had  just  fawned  upon  the 
aristocratic  pride  of  the  merchant  in  making  Ca- 
nal is's  maladresse  noticeable,  determined  the  poet  to 
play  a  part  Melchior  resolved,  while  he  displayed 
his  seductions,  to  play  indifference,  to  appear  to 
disdain  Modeste,  and  thus  pique  the  young  girl's 
self-love.  A  pupil  of  the  beautiful  Duchesse  de 
Chaulieu,  he  showed  himself  in  this  part  worthy  of 
the  reputation  he  enjoyed  of  knowing  women  well, 
although  he  did  not  understand  them,  as  often  hap- 
pens to  those  who  are  the  happy  victims  of  an  ex- 
clusive passion.  While  poor  Ernest,  sunk  in  his 
corner  of  the  carriage,  kept  a  sad  silence,  over- 
whelmed by  the  terrors  of  true  love,  and  foreseeing 
the  anger,  the  disdain  and  contempt,  all  the  thun- 
derbolts of  a  young  girl  who  has  been  wounded  and 
offended,  Canalis  was  preparing  himself,  not  less 
silently,  like  an  actor  ready  to  play  an  important 
r61e  in  some  new  piece.  Certainly  neither  of  them 
resembled  happy  men.  For  Canalis,  also,  weighty 
interests  were  at  stake.  For  him,  the  mere  desire 
of  marriage  would  involve  the  rupture  of  the  serious 
friendship  which  had  bound  him  for  almost  ten 
(255) 


2  $6  MODESTE  MIGNON 

years  to  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu.  Although  he 
had  given  as  a  reason  for  his  journey  the  pretext 
of  his  fatigue, — which  women  never  believe  even 
when  it  is  true, — his  conscience  tormented  him 
slightly;  but  the  word  conscience  appeared  so  Jesu- 
itical to  La  Briere  that  he  shrugged  his  shoulders 
when  the  poet  made  him  the  confidant  of  his 
scruples. 

"Your  conscience,  my  friend,  seems  to  me  simply 
the  fear  of  losing  the  pleasures  of  vanity,  of  very 
real  advantages  and  of  a  habit,  in  losing  the  affec- 
tion of  Madame  de  Chaulieu;  for  if  you  succeed 
with  Modeste,  you  will  renounce  with  regret  the 
insipid  aftermath  of  a  passion  very  much  harvested 
for  the  past  eight  years.  If  you  say  that  you  trem- 
ble at  displeasing  your  protectress,  if  she  should 
learn  the  reason  of  your  stay  here,  I  shall  believe 
you.  To  renounce  the  duchess  and  not  to  succeed 
at  the  Chalet,  will  be  to  play  too  high.  You  take 
the  effect  of  this  alternative  for  remorse." 

"You  do  not  understand  the  sentiments  at  all," 
said  Canal  is,  impatient  as  a  man  to  whom  one  tells 
the  truth  when  he  asks  for  a  compliment. 

"That  is  the  reply  of  a  bigamist  to  a  dozen 
jurors,"  replied  La  Briere  smiling. 

This  epigram  made  another  disagreeable  impres- 
sion upon  Canalis;  he  found  La  Briere  too  intelli- 
gent and  free  for  a  secretary. 

The  arrival  of  a  splendid  carriage,  driven  by  a 
coachman  in  the  Canalis  livery,  made  the  greater 
sensation  at  the  Chalet  inasmuch  as  they  expected 


MODESTE  MIGNON  257 

the  two  suitors  there,  and  as  all  the  personages  of 
this  story,  except  the  duke  and  Butscha,  were  there. 

"Which  is  the  poet?"  asked  Madame  Latournelle 
of  Dumay,  from  the  recess  of  the  window,  where 
she  had  just  posted  herself  at  the  noise  of  the 
carriage. 

"The  one  who  walks  like  a  drum-major,"  replied 
the  cashier. 

"Ah!"  replied  the  lawyer's  wife,  examining 
Melchior,  who  swung  himself  like  a  man  who  is 
aware  of  being  looked  at. 

Although  too  severe,  Dumay's  estimate,  simple 
man  as  he  always  was,  had  some  justice  in  it 
Through  the  fault  of  the  great  lady  who  flattered 
him  excessively  and  spoiled  him,  as  all  women  older 
than  their  adorers  always  flatter  and  spoil  them, 
Canalis  was  morally  a  sort  of  Narcissus.  A  woman 
of  a  certain  age  who  wishes  to  attach  a  man  to  her 
forever,  commences  by  deifying  his  faults,  in  order 
to  render  all  rivalship  impossible;  for  a  rival  is  not, 
at  first  approach,  in  the  secret  of  that  superfine 
flattery  to  which  the  man  has  become  accustomed. 
Fops  are  the  product  of  this  feminine  work,  when 
they  are  not  fops  from  birth.  Canalis,  captivated 
at  an  early  age  by  the  beautiful  Duchesse  de 
Chaulieu,  thus  justified  to  himself  his  affectations, 
saying  that  they  pleased  this  woman  whose  taste 
was  law.  Although  these  differences  are  of  an  ex- 
cessive delicacy,  it  is  not  impossible  to  point  them 
out  Thus,  Melchior  possessed  a  talent  for  reading 
aloud,  which  had  been  so  much  admired  that  the 


258  MODESTE  MIGNON 

overpraise  had  led  him  into  a  line  of  exaggeration 
in  which  neither  the  poet  nor  the  actor  come  to  a 
standstill  and  which  caused  it  to  be  said  of  him — 
always  by  de  Marsay — that  he  did  not  declaim,  but 
that  he  rang  out  his  verses,  so  greatly  did  he  prolong 
the  sounds  in  listening  to  himself. 

In  the  slang  of  the  green-room  Canalis  "took  his 
time  rather  long."  He  allowed  himself  to  exchange 
glances  with  his  audience,  assuming  poses  andtnose 
resources  of  the  play  called  by  actors  balanfoires — 
an  expression  which  is  picturesque  like  everything 
created  by  these  artistic  people.  Canalis,  besides, 
was  the  head  of  a  school  and  had  his  imitators. 
This  chanting  emphasis  had  slightly  affected  his 
conversation,  he  had  a  declamatory  tone  as  we  have 
seen  in  his  interview  with  Dumay.  The  moment  the 
mind  becomes  abnormally  capricious,  the  manner 
follows  suit  Thus  Canalis  ended  by  studying  his 
walk,  inventing  attitudes,  looking  at  himself  in  the 
mirror  on  the  sly  and  making  his  discourse  accord 
with  his  pose.  He  was  so  much  occupied  in  pro- 
ducing an  effect  that  a  famous  joker,  Blondet,  had 
more  than  once  bet  that  he  could  disconcert  the  poet 
by  looking  fixedly  at  his  frizzed  hair,  or  his  boots, 
or  the  tail  of  his  coat — and  had  won  the  bet  After 
ten  years,  these  airs  and  graces,  which  had  com- 
menced by  having  a  flowery  youth  as  an  excuse, 
had  become  all  the  more  objectionable  because  Mel- 
chior  himself  was  getting  on  in  life.  A  fashionable, 
pleasure-fed  life  is  as  fatiguing  to  men  as  to  women, 
and  perhaps  the  twenty  years,  by  which  the 


MODESTE  MIGNON  259 

duchess  was  the  senior  of  Canal  is,  weighed  upon 
him  more  than  her,  for  to  the  world  she  was  always 
beautiful — having  no  wrinkles,  no  rouge,  and  no 
heart  Alas!  that  neither  men  nor  women  have 
friends  to  warn  them  when  the  perfume  of  their 
modesty  loses  its  fragrance,  when  the  tenderness 
in  their  eyes  is  but  a  tradition  of  the  theatre,  or  the 
expression  of  their  faces  changes  to  affectation,  and 
when  the  artifices  of  their  minds  allow  the  adsci- 
titious  ruddy  tints  of  their  bodies  to  be  visible. 
Genius  alone  can  renew  itself  like  the  serpent, 
i  and  in  the  matter  of  charm,  like  everything  else,  it 
is  the  heart  alone  which  does  not  age.  People  of 
heart  are  most  simple.  Now,  as  you  know,  Ca- 
nal is  had  a  dried-up  heart  He  had  abused  the  beauty 
of  his  glance  by  affecting  unreasonably  that  fixity 
of  expression  which  meditation  gives  to  the  eyes. 
Indeed,  for  him,  applause  was  a  commerce  by 
which  he  wished  to  profit  largely.  His  manner  of 
complimenting,  charming  to  superficial  people,  was 
insulting  to  persons  of  more  delicacy,  owing  to  its 
grossness  and  directness  of  flattery  which  was,  but 
too  evidently,  a  studied  effort  In  fact  Melchior 
lied  like  a  courtier.  He  had  said,  without  blushing, 
to  the  Due  de  Chaulieu,  who  had  made  little  or  no 
impression  on  the  deputies,  when,  as  the  Minis- 
ter of  Foreign  Affairs,  he  had  been  obliged  to 
address  them  from  the  tribune: 

"Your  excellency  was  sublime." 

How  many  men  have  been,  like  Canalis,  cured 
of  their  affectations  by  non-success  administered  in 


260  MODESTE  MIGNON 

small  doses!  These  defects,  light  enough  in  the 
gilded  salons  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  where 
each  one  brings  with  exactitude  his  quota  of  non- 
sense, and  where  this  kind  of  boasting,  preparation, 
of  tension — if  you  like — is  supported  by  a  back- 
ground of  excessive  luxury  and  sumptuous  toilettes, 
which  perhaps  excuse  it,  became  extravagantly 
marked  in  the  heart  of  the  country,  where  the  ab- 
surdities belong  to  a  different  order.  Canalis,  at 
all  times  overstrained  and  full  of  mannerisms,  could 
not  change  himself,  he  had  had  time  to  cool  in  the 
mould  to  which  the  duchess  had  cast  him;  more- 
over, he  was  thoroughly  Parisian  or,  if  you  please, 
thoroughly  French.  The  Parisian  is  amazed  that 
nothing  elsewhere  is  as  it  is  in  Paris;  and  the 
Frenchman  experiences  the  same  astonishment, — 
that  the  whole  world  is  not  like  France!  Good 
taste  consists  in  adapting  ourselves  to  foreign  coun- 
tries without  effacing  our  particular  characteristics — 
as  did  Alcibiades,  the  model  gentleman.  Real 
charm  is  sympathetic;  it  lends  itself  to  all  circum- 
stances, is  in  harmony  with  all  social  centres.  It 
can  wear  a  dress  of  simple  stuff,  remarkable  only 
for  its  cut,  in  the  street,  instead  of  the  plumes  and 
loud  costume  which  the  bourgeois  parades  there. 

Now  Canalis,  instigated  by  a  woman  who  loved 
herself  more  than  she  loved  him,  wished  to  make 
himself  a  law  and  to  be  everywhere  the  great  man 
he  believed  himself  to  be.  He  believed — an  error 
shared  by  some  of  the  greatest  men  of  Paris — that 
he  carried  his  public  with  him  wherever  he  went 


MODESTE  MIGNON  261 

While  the  poet  made  a  studied  entrance  into  the 
Chalet,  La  Briere  slipped  in  like  a  dog  who  fears  a 
whipping. 

"Ah!  I  see  my  soldier!"  exclaimed  Canal  is  on  ob- 
serving Dumay,  after  having  complimented  Madame 
Mignon  and  bowed  to  the  ladies.  "Your  anxieties 
are  calmed,  are  they  not?"  he  asked,  extending  his 
hand  ostentatiously.  "One  can  readily  understand 
them  after  seeing  mademoiselle.  I  was  speaking  of 
terrestrial  creatures,  not  of  angels." 

Each  and  every  one,  by  his  attitude,  seemed  to 
demand  an  explanation  of  this  enigmatical  speech. 

"Ah!  I  shall  always  count  it  as  a  triumph," 
resumed  the  poet,  understanding  that  each  one  de- 
sired the  meaning  of  his  words,  "to  have  moved 
one  of  those  men  of  iron  whom  Napoleon  used  as  the 
piles  upon  which  he  tried  to  build  an  empire — too 
colossal  to  be  lasting;  for  such  things  time  alone 
can  cement  But  is  this  indeed  a  triumph  upon 
which  I  should  pride  myself — I  who  count  for  noth- 
ing? It  was  the  triumph  of  the  idea  over  the  fact 
Your  battles,  rnydear  Monsieur  Dumay,  your  heroic 
charges,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  indeed  war  itself  was 
the  form  in  which  Napoleon's  thoughts  clothed 
themselves.  Of  all  these  things,  what  remains? 
The  grass  which  .covers  them  says  nothing,  the 
harvests  do  not  tell  of  their  resting  place,  and  with- 
out the  historian,  without  our  writings,  the  future 
would  remain  in  ignorance  of  those  heroic  times! 
Thus  your  fifteen  years  of  struggle  resolve  them- 
selves into  ideas,  and  that  which  will  save  the 


262  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Empire  will  be  the  poems  which  the  poets  make  of 
it.  A  country  which  can  gain  such  victories  ought 
to  know  how  to  sing  them." 

Canalis  paused  and  rapidly  glanced  at  his  audi- 
ence, so  as  to  gather  the  tribute  of  amazement  which 
he  expected  provincials  would  offer. 

"You  cannot  doubt,  monsieur,  my  regret  at  not 
being  able  to  see  you,"  said  Madame  Mignon,  "from 
the  enjoyment  I  find  in  listening  to  you." 

Determined,  beforehand,  to  think  Canalis  sub- 
lime, Modeste,  seated  as  she  was  at  the  opening  of 
the  story,  remained  wonderstruck,  neglecting  her 
embroidery,  which  had  slipped  from  her  fingers  and 
was  held  only  by  the  threaded  needle. 

"Modeste,  this  is  Monsieur  de  la  Briere. — Mon- 
sieur Ernest,  my  daughter,"  said  Charles,  seeing 
the  secretary  cast  in  the  shade. 

The  young  girl  bowed  coldly  to  Ernest  with  a 
look  which  might  have  convinced  everyone  present 
that  she  saw  him  for  the  first  time. 

"1  beg  your  pardon,  monsieur,"  she  said  to  him 
without  blushing,  "the  great  admiration  which  I 
profess  for  the  greatest  of  our  poets  must  excuse  me 
in  the  eyes  of  my  friends  for  having  seen  only 
him." 

This  fresh  and  accented  voice,  like  that  of  Made- 
moiselle Mars,  which  was  so  celebrated,  charmed 
the  poor  secretary,  already  dazzled  by  Modeste's 
beauty,  and  in  his  surprise  he  replied  by  a  phrase, 
sublime  if  it  was  true: 

"But  he  is  my  friend,"  he  said. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  263 

"Then  you  have  already  pardoned  me,"  she 
replied. 

"He  is  more  than  a  friend, "  cried  Canalis,  leaning 
upon  Ernest's  shoulder  like  Alexander  on  Hephass- 
tion;  "we  love  each  other  like  brothers, — " 

Madame  Latournelle  cut  short  the  great  poet's 
words  by  pointing  out  Ernest  to  her  husband  and 
saying: 

"Is  not  that  the  gentleman  we  saw  in  church?" 

"Why  not?" — replied  Charles  Mignon,  seeing 
Ernest  blush. 

Modeste  remained  unmoved  and  took  up  her  em- 
broidery. 

"Madame  may  be  right  I  have  been  to  Havre 
twice,"  said  La  Briere,  seating  himself  by  Dumay. 

Canalis,  delighted  with  Modeste's  beauty,  misun- 
derstood the  admiration  which  she  expressed  and 
flattered  himself  that  he  had  already  Completely 
succeeded  in  producing  the  desired  effect 

"I  should  consider  a  man  of  genius  to  be  without 
heart,  if  he  had  not  some  devoted  friend  near  him," 
said  Modeste,  resuming  the  conversation  interrupted 
by  the  awkwardness  of  Madame  Latournelle. 

"Mademoiselle,  the  devotion  of  Ernest  makes  me 
think  that  I  am  worth  something,"  said  Canalis, 
"for  this  dear  Pylades  is  full  of  talent,  he  has  been 
the  right  hand  of  the  greatest  minister  we  have  had 
since  peace  was  established.  Although  he  holds  a 
magnificent  position  he  has  consented  to  be  my 
tutor  in  politics;  he  teaches  me  business  principles, 
he  nourishes  me  from  his  experience  while  he  could 


264  MODESTE  MIGNON 

aspire  to  the  highest  destinies.  Ah!  he  is  worth 
more  than  I. — " 

At  a  gesture  from  Modeste,  Melchior  added  grace- 
fully: 

"Poetry,  which  I  express,  he  carries  in  his  heart, 
and  if  I  speak  thus  frankly  before  him  it  is  because 
he  has  the  modesty  of  a  nun." 

"Enough,  enough,"  said  La  Briere,  who  did  not 
know  which  way  to  look.  "My  dear  fellow,  you 
remind  me  of  a  mother  who  wishes  to  marry  her 
daughter." 

"And  how  is  it,  monsieur,"  said  Charles  Mignon, 
addressing  Canal  is,  "that  you  can  think  of  becom- 
ing a  politician?" 

"For  a  poet,  it  is  abdication,"  said  Modeste. 
"Politics  are  the  resources  of  ordinary  men." 

"Ah!  mademoiselle,  the  tribune  is  now  the  great- 
est theatre  in  the  world; — it  has  taken  the  place  of 
the  tournaments  of  chivalry;  it  will  be  the  meeting 
place  of  all  intellect  just  as  the  army  has  been  the 
acme  of  all  courage." 

Canal  is  was  astride  his  charger  and  talked  for 
ten  minutes  on  political  life.  "Poetry  was  but  the 
preface  to  the  statesman.  To-day  the  orator  has 
become  a  sublime  reasoner,  the  shepherd  of  ideas. 
When  a  poet  points  out  the  way  of  the  future  to  his 
country,  does  he  cease  to  be  himself?"  He  quoted 
Chateaubriand  and  declared  that  the  day  would 
come  when  he  would  be  more  famous  in  politics 
than  in  literature.  "The  French  tribune  was  going 
to  be  the  pharos  of  humanity.  Oral  struggles 


MODESTE  MIGNON  265 

would  replace  those  of  the  battlefield.  Some  ses- 
sions of  the  Chamber  were  finer  than  Austerlitz, 
and  orators  showed  themselves  to  be  the  equals  of 
generals,  they  showed  in  their  lives  as  much  cour- 
age and  strength  as  those  who  went  to  war.  Was 
not  speech  one  of  the  most  tremendous  outlets  of  the 
vital  fluid  which  man  possessed?"  etc.,  etc. 

This  improvisation,  composed  of  modern  common- 
places, but  clothed  anew  in  sonorous  expressions, 
of  new  words,  and  intended  to  prove  that  the  Baron 
de  Canal  is  would  be,  some  day,  one  of  the  glories 
of  the  tribune,  produced  a  profound  impression  upon 
the  notary,  Gobenheim,  Madame  Latournelle  and 
Madame  Mignon.  Modeste  sat  as  one  at  a  play 
with  an  enthusiasm  for  the  actor,  just  as  Ernest  sat 
looking  at  her;  for  if  the  secretary  knew  all  these 
phrases  by  heart,  he  listened  now  through  the  eyes 
of  the  young  girl  and  became  more  and  more  madly 
in  love.  For  in  the  eyes  of  this  true  lover,  Modeste 
eclipsed  all  the  different  Modestes  which  he  had 
created  in  reading  her  letters  and  answering  them. 

This  visit,  the  duration  of  which  had  been  pre- 
determined by  Canal  is,  who  knew  better  than  to 
let  his  admirers  weary  of  him,  ended  by  an  invita- 
tion to  dinner  on  the  following  Monday. 

"We  shall  not  then  be  at  the  Chalet,"  said  the 
Comte  de  la  Bastie,  "it  will  become,  again,  the 
abode  of  my  friend  Dumay.  I  am  going  back  to  the 
old  house  under  a  deed  of  redemption  of  six  months' 
duration  which  I  have  just  signed  with  Monsieur 
Vilquin  at  the  office  of  my  friend  Latournelle — " 


266  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"I  hope,"  said  Dumay,  "that  Vilquin  cannot  re- 
turn you  the  sum  which  you  lent  him — " 

"You  will  have  then  an  abode  in  keeping  with 
your  fortune," — said  Canal  is. 

"With  the  fortune  which  is  accredited  to  me," 
said  Charles  Mignon  quickly. 

"It  would  be  a  pity,"  said  Canalis,  turning  to 
Modeste  and  bowing  gracefully, "if  this  Madonna  did 
not  have  a  frame  worthy  of  her  divine  perfections." 

This  was  all  that  Canalis  said  to  Modeste,  for  he 
had  hardly  seemed  to  see  her  and  had  behaved  like 
a  man  to  whom  all  idea  of  marriage  was  denied. 

"Ah!  my  dear  Madame  Mignon,  he  has  a  fine 
intellect,"  said  the  notary's  wife,  as  soon  as  she 
heard  the  sound  of  the  gravel  of  the  garden  crushed 
under  the  feet  of  the  two  Parisians. 

"Is he  rich?  that  is  the  important  question,"  said 
Gobenheim. 

Modeste  was  at  the  window  so  as  not  to  lose  a 
single  movement  of  the  great  poet,  but  having  no 
glance  for  poor  Ernest  de  la  Briere.  When  Mon- 
sieur Mignon  came  in,  and  when  Modeste  after  hav- 
ing received  the  last  bow  from  the  two  friends  as 
the  carriage  turned  away  had  come  back  to  her  seat, 
one  of  those  profound  discussions  took  place  such  as 
provincials  always  have  about  Parisians  after  a  first 
interview.  Gobenheim  repeated  his  inquiry,  "Is 
he  rich  ?"  as  a  chorus  to  the  praises  sung  by  Madame 
Latournelle,  Modeste,  and  her  mother. 

"Rich!"  cried  Modeste,  "what  does  that  matter? 
Do  you  not  see  that  Monsieur  de  Canalis  is  one  of 


MODESTE  MIGNON  267 

those  men  destined  to  occupy  the  highest  positions 
of  state  ?  He  has  more  than  fortune,  he  possesses 
the  means  of  fortune." 

"He  will  be  minister  or  ambassador,"  said  Mon- 
sieur Mignon. 

"The  taxpayers  may  nevertheless  have  to  pay  for 
his  funeral,"  said  the  little  Latournelle. 

"And  why  so?"  asked  Charles  Mignon. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  he  will  waste  all  fortunes 
with  those  'means  of  fortune'  so  liberally  accorded 
him  by  Mademoiselle  Modeste. " 

"How  can  Modeste  be  other  than  liberal  to  a  poet 
who  calls  her  a  Madonna?"  said  Dumay,  faithful  to 
the  repugnance  with  which  Canal  is  had  inspired 
him. 

Gobenheim  arranged  the  whist  table  with  all  the 
more  interest  that  since  the  return  of  Monsieur 
Mignon,  Latournelle  and  Dumay  allowed  themselves 
to  play  for  ten  sous  a  point 

"Well,  my  angel,"  said  the  father  to  Modeste, 
in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  "admit  that  papa 
thinks  of  everything.  If  you  give  your  orders  this 
evening  to  your  former  dressmaker  in  Paris  and  all 
your  other  furnishers,  you  can  in  eight  days  appear 
in  all  the  splendor  of  an  heiress  while  I  shall  have 
time  to  arrange  for  our  installation  in  our  house. 
You  have  a  pretty  pony,  order  a  habit  now,  the 
Grand  Equerry  merits  that  attention — " 

"All  the  more  because  there  are  people  to  ride 
with,"  said  Modeste,  on  whose  cheeks  the  color  of 
health  reappeared. 


268  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"The  secretary  does  not  amount  to  much,"  said 
Madame  Mignon. 

"He  is  a  little  stupid,"  replied  Madame  Latour- 
nelle.  "The  poet  played  the  agreeable  to  every- 
one. He  remembered  to  thank  Latournelle  for 
helping  him  to  choose  his  house  here,  saying  to  me 
that  he  seemed  to  have  consulted  the  taste  of  a 
woman.  But  the  other  was  as  gloomy  as  a  Span- 
iard, with  his  eyes  fixed  on  Modeste  as  if  he  would 
like  to  swallow  her.  If  he  had  even  looked  at  me  I 
would  have  been  afraid." 

"He  has  a  sweet  voice,"  said  Madame  Mignon. 

"He  came  to  Havre  no  doubt  to  inquire  about  the 
Mignon  house  in  the  interest  of  the  poet,"  said 
Modeste,  winking  at  her  father,  "for  it  was  certainly 
he  whom  we  saw  in  the  church." 

Madame  Dumay  and  Monsieur  and  Madame  La- 
tournelle accepted  this  explanation  of  Ernest's  visit 


"Do  you  know,  Ernest,"  said  Canal  is,  when 
twenty  feet  from  the  Chalet,  "that  I  do  not  know 
anywhere  in  the  world,  in  Paris,  a  single  mar- 
riageable woman  comparable  to  that  adorable  girl !" 

"Ah!  then  all  is  said,"  replied  La  Briere  with 
concentrated  bitterness,  "she  loves  you  or  if  you 
wish  it  she  will  love  you.  Your  fame  has  fought 
half  the  battle.  In  short,  all  is  at  your  disposition. 
You  shall  go  there  again  alone.  Modeste  has  the 
most  profound  contempt  for  me,  she  is  right,  and  I 
do  not  see  why  1  should  condemn  myself  to  the  suf- 
fering of  admiring,  desiring  and  adoring  that  which 
I  can  never  possess." 

After  some  words  of  condolence,  in  which  ap- 
peared the  satisfaction  of  having  made  a  new 
edition  of  Caesar's  phrase,  Canal  is  allowed  his  de- 
sire to  break  off  with  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu  to 
come  to  light.  La  Briere,  not  being  able  to  bear 
this  conversation,  urged  the  beauty  of  a  charming 
night,  to  get  out  of  the  carriage,  when  he  ran  like  a 
madman  towards  the  shore,  where  he  remained 
until  half-past  ten,  a  prey  to  a  sort  of  mania.  Some- 
times walking  rapidly  and  talking  to  himself,  some- 
times sitting  or  standing,  without  noticing  that  two 
custom-house  officers,  on  duty,  anxiously  watched 
him.  After  having  loved  the  mental  attainments 
(269) 


270  MODESTE  MIGNON 

and  the  aggressive  candor  of  Modeste,  he  had  just 
added  to  it  the  adoration  of  beauty — that  is  to  say, 
love  without  reason  and  inexpressible — to  all  the 
other  reasons  which  had  led  him  ten  days  before  to 
the  church  in  Havre. 

He  returned  to  the  Chalet,  where  the  Pyrenese 
dogs  barked  at  him  so  ferociously  that  he  could  not 
even  give  himself  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  Mo- 
deste's  windows.  In  love,  all  these  things  are  no 
more  to  the  lover  than  the  work  covered  by  the 
last  coat  of  color  is  to  the  painter;  but  they  consti- 
tute love,  as  the  concealed  work  is  the  whole  of  art 
From  these  a  great  painter  and  a  true  lover  appear, 
whom  the  women  and  the  public  end,  often  too 
late,  by  adoring. 

"Ah,  well,"  he  cried  out,  "I  will  remain,  I  will 
suffer,  I  will  see  her,  I  will  love  her  for  myself 
alone,  selfishly!  Modeste  shall  be  my  sun,  my  life, 
I  will  breathe  her  breath,  I  will  enjoy  her  joys,  I 
will  waste  away  from  her  sorrows,  even  if  she  be 
the  wife  of  that  egotist  Canal  is. " 

"That  is  what  I  call  love,  monsieur,"  said  a  voice 
which  came  from  a  thicket  on  the  edge  of  the  road. 
"Does  then  everybody  love  Mademoiselle  de  la 
Bastie?"  And  Butscha  appeared  suddenly  and 
looked  up  at  La  Briere.  La  Briere  restrained  his 
anger  as  he  looked  at  the  dwarf  from  head  to 
foot  in  the  moonlight,  and  took  a  few  steps  without 
replying  to  him. 

"Between  soldiers  who  are  serving  in  the  same 
company,  there  ought  to  be  better  comradeship  than 


MODESTE  MIGNON  271 

that!"  said  Butscha.     "If  you  do  not  love  Canal  is, 
I  am  not  passionately  fond  of  him  myself." 

"He  is  my  friend,"  replied  Ernest 

"Ah!  you  are  the  little  secretary,"  replied  the 
dwarf. 

"Know, sir,  that  I  am  secretary  to  no  one;  I  have 
the  honor  of  being  a  counselor  in  one  of  the  supreme 
courts  of  the  kingdom." 

"I  have  the  honor  then  of  saluting  Monsieur  de  la 
Briere,"  said  Butscha,  "1  have  the  honor  to  be  the 
head  clerk  of  Monsieur  Latournelle,  the  supreme 
counselor  of  Havre,  and  I  have  certainly  a  finer 
position  than  yours.  Yes,  I  have  had  the  happiness 
of  seeing  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie  almost  every 
evening  for  four  years,  and  I  expect  to  live  near  her 
always,  as  a  servant  of  the  king  lives  at  the  Tuile- 
ries.  If  the  throne  of  Russia  should  be  offered  to 
me,  I  should  reply,  I  love  the  sun  too  much!  Does 
not  this  tell  you,  monsieur,  that  I  am  more  interested 
in  her  than  in  myself,  and  with  honorable  inten- 
tions? Do  you  think  that  the  proud  Duchesse  de 
Chaulieu  regards  the  happiness  of  Madame  de  Ca- 
nal is  in  a  pleasing  manner,  when  her  maid,  in  love 
with  Monsieur  Germain,  and  already  nervous  at 
the  stay  which  this  charming  valet  is  making  at 
Havre,  complains  as  she  dresses  her  mistress's  hair 
of—" 

"How  do  you  know  these  things?"  said  La  Briere, 
interrupting  Butscha. 

"First,  I  am  a  lawyer's  clerk,"  replied  Butscha, 
"but  you  have  surely  noticed  my  hump,  it  is  full  of 


272  MODESTE  MIGNON 

inventions,  monsieur;  I  have  made  myself  a  cousin 
of  Mademoiselle  Philoxene  Jacmin,  born  at  Honfleur, 
where  my  mother,  a  Jacmin,  was  born, — there  are 
twelve  branches  of  the  Jacmins  at  Honfleur.  Then 
my  cousin,  allured  by  an  improbable  inheritance, 
has  told  me  many  things." 

"The  duchess  is  vindictive,"  said  La  Briere. 

"As  a  queen,  so  Philoxene  told  me;  she  has  not 
pardoned  Monsieur  le  Due  for  being  nothing  more 
than  her  husband,"  replied  Butscha,  "she  hates  as 
she  loves.  I  know  her  character,  her  toilette,  her 
taste,  her  religion  and  her  limitations,  for  Philoxene 
has  shown  her  to  me  unclothed,  both  in  body  and 
mind.  I  went  to  the  opera  to  see  Madame  de 
Chaulieu, — to  say  nothing  of  the  play, — and  I  have 
not  regretted  my  ten  francs.  If  my  so-called  cousin 
had  not  told  me  that  her  mistress  counted  fifty  sum- 
mers, I  should  have  thought  myself  very  generous 
in  giving  her  thirty;  she  has  not  known  any  win- 
ters, that  duchess!" 

"Yes,"  replied  La  Briere,  "her  face  is  a  cameo 
preserved  by  its  hardness.  Canalis  would  be  much 
embarrassed  if  the  duchess  knew  his  projects  here, 
and  1  trust,  monsieur,  that  you  will  refrain  from 
more  of  this  spying,  which  is  unworthy  of  an  hon- 
est man." 

"Monsieur,"  replied  Butscha,  proudly,  "for  me 
Modeste  is  the  State !  I  do  not  spy,  I  foresee.  The 
duchess  will  come  or  remain  in  her  tranquillity,  as 
1  see  fit" 

"You?" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  273 

"I,  monsieur." 

"And  by  what  means?"  said  La  Briere. 

"Ah!  that  is  it,"  said  the  little  hunchback,  as  he 
took  a  blade  of  grass.  "Look  here!  this  grass  be- 
lieves that  men  construct  palaces  for  it  to  live  in, 
and  some  day  it  causes  the  most  solidly-cemented 
walls  to  fall,  like  the  people  introduced  into  the 
structure  of  Feudalism,  who  have  thrown  it  to  the 
ground.  The  power  of  the  weak  man  who  can  in- 
sinuate himself  everywhere  is  greater  than  that  of 
the  strong  man,  who  depends  upon  the  strength  of 
his  arms.  We  are  three  Swiss  guards  who  have 
vowed  that  Modeste  shall  be  happy,  and  who  would 
sell  our  honor  for  her.  Adieu,  monsieur!  If  you 
love  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie,  forget  this  conver- 
sation, and  shake  my  hand,  for  you  seem  to  me  to 
have  a  heart — I  was  anxious  to  see  the  Chalet,  and 
I  arrived  there  just  as  she  blew  out  her  candle.  I 
heard  the  dogs  barking  at  you,  and  I  heard  you 
raging;  therefore  I  took  the  liberty  of  telling  you 
that  we  are  serving  in  the  same  company,  that  of 
Loyal  Devotion." 

"Ah,  well,"  replied  La  Briere  pressing  the 
dwarf's  hand,  "do  me  the  kindness  to  tell  me  if 
Mademoiselle  Modeste  has  ever  loved  anyone  before 
her  secret  correspondence  with  Canal  is. " 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Butscha,  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"even  this  suspicion  is  an  injustice.  And  even 
now  who  knows  if  she  loves  ?  Does  she  know  it 
herself?  She  became  enamored  of  the  mind,  the 
genius,  the  soul  of  this  dealer  in  stanzas,  this  vender 
18 


274  MODESTE  MIGNON 

of  literature;  but  she  will  study  him,  we  shall 
all  study  him,  I  know  well  how  to  make  the  real 
character  of  this  man  appear  from  under  the  shell 
of  his  fine  manners,  and  we  shall  see  his  head,  less 
its  ambition  and  its  vanity,"  said  Butscha,  rubbing 
his  hands.  "At  least  mademoiselle  will  not  be  so 
foolish  as  to  die  of — " 

"Oh!  she  remained  in  admiration  before  him  as 
before  a  wonder,"  exclaimed  La  Briere,  allowing 
the  secret  of  his  jealousy  to  escape  him. 

"If  he  is  a  good  loyal  fellow,  if  he  loves  her,  if  he 
is  worthy  of  her  and  if  he  will  renounce  the  duch- 
ess," replied  Butscha — "I  will  manage  the  duchess! 
Here,  my  dear  monsieur,  follow  this  road  and  you 
will  be  home  in  ten  minutes." 

Butscha  retraced  his  steps,  and  waved  to  poor 
Ernest,  who,  like  a  true  lover,  would  have  stood  all 
night  to  talk  about  Modeste. 

"Monsieur,"  said  Butscha.  "I  have  not  yet  had 
the  honor  of  seeing  our  great  poet,  and  I  am  curious 
to  observe  this  great  phenomenon  in  the  exercise  of 
his  functions.  Do  me  the  favor  to  pass  the  evening 
of  the  day  after  to-morrow  at  the  Chalet,  remain 
there  for  a  long  time,  for  a  man  does  not  show  him- 
self in  one  hour.  I  shall  be  the  first  to  know  if  he 
loves,  if  he  can  love,  if  he  ever  will  love  Mademoi- 
selle Modeste." 

"You  are  very  young  to — " 

"Be  a  professor,"  interruped  Butscha.  "Ah! 
monsieur,  abortive  persons  are  born  a  hundred  years 
old.  You  know  a  sick  man,  who  has  been  long  ill, 


MODESTE  MIGNON  275 

becomes  finally  more  skilful  than  his  physician,  he 
understands  his  malady,  which  is  not  always  the 
case  with  conscientious  doctors.  Well,  in  the  same 
way  a  man  who  loves  a  woman  and  whom  the 
woman  must  despise  for  his  ugliness  and  deformity, 
ends  by  becoming  so  skilful  in  love  that  he  appears 
seductive,  as  the  sick  man  ends  by  recovering  his 
health.  Foolishness  alone  is  incurable.  Since  I 
was  six  years  old,  and  I  am  now  twenty-five,  I  have 
had  neither  father  nor  mother;  public  charity  has 
been  my  mother,  and  the  king's  procureur  my 
father.  Don't  worry,"  he  said  in  answer  to  a 
gesture  from  Ernest,  "I  am  gayer  than  my  position. 
— Well,  for  six  years,  since  the  insolent  look  of  one 
of  Madame  Latournelle's  servants  told  me  that  I  had 
no  right  to  think  of  love,  I  began  to  love  and  to  study 
women.  I  began  with  the  homely  ones,  for  we  must 
always  take  the  bull  by  the  horns.  Therefore  I 
selected  my  master's  wife, — who  surely  is  an  angel 
to  me, — for  my  first  study.  Perhaps  I  was  wrong, 
but  what  could  I  do?  I  have  passed  through  the 
alembic  and  I  have  discovered  crouching  at  the  bot- 
tom of  her  heart,  this  idea,  'I  am  not  so  homely  as 
they  think  me.'  Notwithstanding  her  deep  piety, 
by  taking  advantage  of  this  idea,  I  should  have  been 
able  to  lead  her  to  the  edge  of  the  abyss — " 

"And  have  you  studied  Modeste?" 

"I  thought  I  had  told  you  that  my  life  was  hers," 
replied  the  hunchback,  "as  France  belongs  to  the 
king!  Now  do  you  understand  my  spying  at  Paris? 
No  one  but  myself  knows  all  the  nobleness,  pride, 


276  MODESTE  MIGNON 

devotion,  wonderful  grace,  inexhaustible  goodness, 
true  religion,  gaiety,  education,  delicacy,  affability 
of  soul,  heart  and  mind,  of  this  adorable  child." 

Butscha  took  out  his  handkerchief  to  dry  two 
tears,  and  La  Briere  pressed  his  hand  for  a  long 
time. 

"I  live  in  her  rays!  They  begin  with  her  and 
end  in  me,  and  thus  we  are  united,  almost  as  nature 
is  to  God,  by  the  Light  and  the  Word.  Adieu, 
monsieur,  I  have  never  chatted  so  much  in  my  life 
before,  but  when  I  saw  you  before  her  windows,  I 
divined  that  you  love  her  as  I  do." 

Without  awaiting  a  reply,  Butscha  left  the  poor 
lover,  to  whose  heart  this  conversation  had  been  an 
indescribable  balm.  Ernest  resolved  to  make  a 
friend  of  Butscha,  without  suspecting  that  the 
clerk's  loquacity  had  had  for  its  special  object  the 
means  of  engaging  information  about  Canalis. 

In  what  an  ebb  and  flow  of  thoughts,  resolutions 
and  plans  of  conduct  Ernest  was  rocked  to  sleep  that 
night!  But  his  friend  Canalis  slept  the  sleep  of 
victory,  the  sweetest  sleep  save  that  of  the  just 

At  breakfast  the  two  friends  agreed  to  go  together 
to  pass  the  following  evening  at  the  Chalet  and 
initiate  themselves  into  the  joys  of  provincial 
whist ;  but,  in  order  to  use  up  the  day,  they  had 
their  horses,  which  were  broken  to  both  carriage  and 
saddle,  brought  around  and  took  a  turn  on  horse- 
back into  the  country  which  was  as  unknown  to 
them  as  China, — for  that  which  is  least  known  to 
the  French  in  France  is  France  itself. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  277 

In  reflecting  upon  his  position  of  an  unhappy  and 
despised  lover,  the  secretary  made  a  study  of  him- 
self almost  similar  to  that  caused  by  the  question 
put  by  Modeste  at  the  commencement  of  their  cor- 
respondence. Although  misfortune  is  supposed  to 
develop  virtues,  it  develops  them  only  in  virtuous 
persons;  for  this  kind  of  purification  of  the  con- 
science is  only  possible  in  people  who  are  naturally 
clean.  La  Briere  promised  himself  to  conceal  his 
suffering  like  a  Spartan,  to  remain  dignified,  and  not 
to  allow  himself  to  be  betrayed  into  any  cowardice ; 
while  Canal  is,  fascinated  by  the  enormity  of  the 
dowry,  pledged  himself  to  neglect  nothing  to  captivate 
Modeste.  Selfishness  and  devotion  were  the  key- 
notes of  these  two  characters,  though  a  moral  law, 
strange  enough  in  its  effects,  brought  about  results 
contrary  to  their  natures.  The  selfish  man  was 
going  to  play  the  part  of  abnegation,  and  the  ac- 
commodating man  was  going  to  take  refuge  under  the 
Aventine  mount  of  Pride.  This  phenomenon  is  also 
observed  in  politics.  A  man  often  turns  his  char- 
acter inside  out,  and  it  often  happens  that  the  pub- 
lic do  not  know  which  is  the  right  side. 

After  dinner  the  two  friends  learned  through  Ger- 
main of  the  arrival  of  the  Grand  Equerry,  who  was 
presented  at  the  Chalet  in  the  evening  by  Monsieur 
Latournelle.  Mademoiselle  d'Herouville  hurt  this 
worthy  man's  feelings  by  sending  a  footman  to  ask 
him  to  come  to  her,  instead  of  simply  sending  her 
nephew  in  person ;  in  which  case  Latournelle  would 
have  talked  for  the  rest  of  his  days  of  the  Grand 


278  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Equerry's  visit.  Therefore,  when  his  Lordship 
proposed  to  drive  the  little  lawyer  to  Ingouville 
with  him  in  his  carriage,  Latournelle  told  him  that 
he  was  engaged  to  take  Madame  Latournelle  there. 
Thinking,  from  the  grave  manner  of  the  lawyer, 
that  he  had  some  mistake  to  repair  the  duke  said  to 
him  graciously: 

"If  you  will  permit  me,  I  shall  have  the  honor  of 
taking  Madame  Latournelle." 

Notwithstanding  the  haughty  mien  of  the  despotic 
Mademoiselle  d'Herouville,  the  duke  went  out  with 
the  little  lawyer.  Beside  herself  with  joy  at  seeing 
a  splendid  equipage  before  her  doors,  the  steps  of 
which  were  lowered  by  servants  in  royal  livery, 
Madame  Latournelle,  on  hearing  that  the  Grand 
Equerry  had  come  to  take  her,  was  too  overcome  to 
draw  on  her  gloves,  hold  her  parasol  or  put  on  the 
dignity  she  imagined  the  occasion  required.  Once 
in  the  carriage  she  heaped  polite  speeches  on  the 
duke,  but  her  good-heartedness  got  the  better  of  her 
when  she  exclaimed : 

"Well,  and  what  about  Butscha?" 

"Let  us  take  Butscha,"  said  the  duke,  smiling. 

When  the  people  on  the  quays,  who  gathered  in 
groups  to  watch  the  magnificence  of  this  equipage, 
saw  the  three  little  men  with  this  tall,  lean  woman, 
they  laughed. 

"If  all  the  men  were  welded  together  lengthwise 
perhaps  there  would  be  one  man  tall  enough  for  that 
pole!"  said  a  Bordeaux  sailor. 

"Have   you  anything  else  which  you   wish  to 


MODESTE  MIGNON  279 

carry,  madame?"  asked  the  duke  pleasantly,  as  the 
footman  awaited  orders. 

"No,  my  lord,"  replied  the  lawyer's  wife,  blush- 
ing and  looking  at  her  husband,  as  if  to  ask: 
"What  have  I  done  wrong?" 

"His  lordship,"  said  Butscha,  "honors  me  by 
calling  me  something.  A  poor  clerk  like  myself  is 
generally  considered  a  nonentity." 

Although  this  was  said  with  a  smile,  the  duke 
reddened  and  made  no  reply.  Great  persons  are 
always  wrong  to  jest  with  their  inferiors.  Jesting  is 
a  game,  and  the  game  presupposes  equality.  It  is  to 
avoid  the  inconveniences  of  this  passing  equality, 
that  when  a  game  of  cards  is  finished,  the  players 
have  the  right  not  to  know  one  another  any  longer. 

The  ostensible  reason  for  the  visit  of  the  Grand 
Equerry,  was  a  colossal  business  matter.  That  is, 
to  make  available  an  immense  tract  of  land  left  by 
the  sea  between  the  mouths  of  the  rivers,  the 
ownership  of  which  had  just  been  awarded  to  the 
d'Herouville  family  by  the  Council  of  State.  The 
question  was  nothing  less  than  to  place  tide  gates 
on  two  bridges,  to  drain  a  kilometre  of  sand  three  or 
four  hundred  acres  broad,  to  cut  canals  through  it 
and  make  roads  in  it  When  the  Due  d'Herouville 
had  explained  the  condition  of  this  piece  of  land, 
Charles  Mignon  observed  that  it  would  be  necessary 
to  wait  until  nature  had  of  its  own  accord  consoli- 
dated it 

"Time,  which  has  providentially  enriched  your 
house,  monsieur,  can  alone  finish  its  work,"  he  said 


280  MODESTE  MIGNON 

as  he  concluded,  "it  would  be  prudent  to  allow  fifty 
years  to  elapse  before  commencing  the  work." 

"I  hope  this  may  not  be  your  final  opinion,  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte, "  said  the  duke.  "Come  to  Herou- 
ville  and  see  it  for  yourself." 

Charles  Mignon  replied  that  every  capitalist 
should  take  time  to  examine  this  business  deliber- 
ately, thus  giving  by  this  remark,  a  pretext  to  the 
Due  d'Herouville  to  come  to  the  Chalet 

The  sight  of  Modeste  made  a  vivid  impression 
upon  the  duke.  He  asked  for  the  honor  of  a  call 
from  her,  saying  that  his  sister  and  aunt  had  heard 
her  spoken  of  and  would  be  happy  to  make  her 
acquaintance.  Charles  Mignon  then  proposed  to 
present  his  daughter  himself  by  going  to  invite  the 
two  ladies  to  dine  with  them  on  the  day  of  their  re- 
establishment  at  the  villa,  which  the  duke  accepted. 
The  sight  of  the  blue  ribbon,  the  title,  and,  espe- 
cially, the  ecstatic  glances  of  the  gentleman  im- 
pressed Modeste,  but  she  showed  herself  perfect  in 
speech,  bearing  and  dignity.  The  duke  at  last 
withdrew  with  reluctance,  taking  with  him  an  in- 
vitation to  visit  the  Chalet  every  evening,  which 
invitation  was  based  upon  the  recognized  impossi- 
bility of  a  courtier  of  Charles  X.  being  able  to  pass 
an  evening  without  his  whist 

So  the  next  evening  Modeste  was  going  to  see 
her  three  lovers  together!  Assuredly,  whatever 
young  girls  may  say  about  it,  and  whatever  the 
heart's  logic  may  decide  as  to  sacrificing  every- 
thing to  preference,  it  is  exceedingly  flattering 


MODESTE  MIGNON  281 

to  see  around  one's  self  several  rival  claimants, 
remarkable  or  celebrated  men,  or  men  of  great 
name,  trying  to  please.  Even  if  Modeste  suffer 
in  your  estimation,  it  must  be  acknowledged 
that  she  avowed  later  that  the  sentiments  expressed 
in  her  letters  paled  before  the  pleasure  of  setting  by 
the  ears  three  men  of  such  different  minds,  either 
one  of  whom  taken  separately  would  certainly  have 
done  honor  to  the  most  exacting  family.  Never- 
theless this  pleasure  of  self-love  was  dominated  in 
her  by  the  misanthropic  malice  caused  by  the  terri- 
ble wound  she  had  received,  which,  however, 
already  began  to  seem  like  a  disappointment  only. 
Therefore,  when  her  father  said  to  her  laughingly: 

"Well,  Modeste,  do  you  wish  to  become  a  duch- 
ess?" 

"Misfortune  has  made  me  a  philosopher,"  she 
replied,  with  mock  humility. 

"You  will  be  only  a  baroness?"  asked  Butscha. 

"Or  a  viscountess?"  added  her  father. 

"How  is  that?"  asked  Modeste  quickly. 

"Why,  if  you  accept  Monsieur  de  la  Briere,  he 
will  surely  have  influence  enough  with  the  king  to 
succeed  to  my  titles  and  arms." 

"Oh!  if  it  is  a  question  of  his  disguising  himself 
he  will  stand  on  no  ceremony  about  it,"  replied 
Modeste  bitterly. 

Butscha  did  not  understand  this  epigrammatic 
speech,  the  sense  of  which  could  only  be  guessed  at 
by  Monsieur  and  Madame  Mignon  and  Dumay. 

"As  soon  as  it  is  a  question  of  marriage,  all  men 


282  MODESTE  MIGNON 

disguise  themselves,"  said  Madame  Latournelle, 
"and  women  set  them  the  example.  I  have  heard 
all  my  life  the  expression,  'Monsieur  or  Mademoiselle 
So-and-so  has  made  a  good  marriage,'  therefore  the 
other  must  have  made  a  bad  one." 

"Marriage,"  said  Butscha,  "is  like  a  lawsuit, 
there  is  always  one  discontented  party;  and  if  one 
dupe  dupes  the  other,  half  the  married  people  play 
a  comedy  at  the  expense  of  the  other  half." 

"And  you  decide,  Monsieur  Butscha?"  said  Mo- 
deste. 

"To  pay  the  strictest  attention  to  the  manoeuvres 
of  the  enemy,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  my  darling?"  said  Charles 
Mignon,  alluding  to  the  scene  with  his  daughter  on 
the  seashore. 

"To  marry,"  said  Latournelle,  "men  play  as 
many  parts  as  mothers  make  their  daughters  play, 
to  get  rid  of  them." 

"Then  you  approve  of  strategy?"  asked  Modeste. 

"On  both  sides,"  exclaimed  Gobenheim,  "then 
the  match  is  equal." 

This  conversation,  carried  on  in  a  desultory  way 
across  the  whist-table  and  in  the  midst  of  cutting 
and  dealing,  turned  on  Monsieur  d'Herouville,  who 
was  thought  very  good-looking  by  the  little  lawyer, 
little  Dumay  and  little  Butscha. 

"I  see,"  said  Madame  Mignon,  with  a  smile, 
"that  Madame  Latournelle  and  my  poor  husband 
are  monstrosities  in  size  here." 

"Happily  for   him,   the  colonel   is  not  so  very 


MODESTE  MIGNON  283 

large,"  replied  Butscha  while  his  master  dealt  the 
cards,  "for  a  great  and  intelligent  man  is  always  an 
exception." 

Without  this  little  discussion  upon  the  legality 
of  matrimonial  stratagems,  perhaps  the  account  of 
the  evening,  awaited  with  such  impatience  by  But- 
scha, would  be  considered  too  long;  but  the  fortune 
for  which  so  many  secret,  cowardly  acts  had  been 
committed,  lends  to  the  details  of  private  life  an 
immense  interest,  which  social  sentiment,  so  frankly 
defined  by  Ernest  in  his  reply  to  Modeste,  will 
always  develop. 

The  next  morning  Desplein  arrived,  but  remained 
only  long  enough  to  send  to  Havre  for  fresh  post- 
horses  and  to  have  them  harnessed,  which  took 
about  an  hour.  He  decided,  after  having  examined 
Madame  Mignon,  that  she  would  recover  her  sight, 
and  he  appointed  a  month  later  as  the  opportune 
moment  for  the  operation. 

Naturally,  this  important  consultation  took  place 
before  the  agitated  occupants  of  the  Chalet,  who 
breathlessly  awaited  the  decision  of  this  prince  of 
science.  As  the  illustrious  member  of  the  Scientific 
Academy  examined  the  blind  woman's  eyes  by  the 
full  daylight,  at  the  window,  he  asked  her  a  dozen 
brief  questions.  Modeste  was  astonished  at  the 
value  of  time  to  so  celebrated  a  man,  as  she  noticed 
that  the  traveling  carriage  was  full  of  books  which 
the  savant  proposed  to  read  during  his  return  to 
Paris,  for  having  set  out  the  evening  before  he  had 
availed  of  the  night  for  sleeping  and  traveling.  The 


282  MODESTE  MIGNON 

disguise  themselves,"  said  Madame  Latournelle, 
"and  women  set  them  the  example.  I  have  heard 
all  my  life  the  expression,  'Monsieur  or  Mademoiselle 
So-and-so  has  made  a  good  marriage,'  therefore  the 
other  must  have  made  a  bad  one." 

"Marriage,"  said  Butscha,  "is  like  a  lawsuit, 
there  is  always  one  discontented  party;  and  if  one 
dupe  dupes  the  other,  half  the  married  people  play 
a  comedy  at  the  expense  of  the  other  half." 

"And  you  decide,  Monsieur  Butscha?"  said  Mo- 
deste. 

"To  pay  the  strictest  attention  to  the  manoeuvres 
of  the  enemy,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  my  darling?"  said  Charles 
Mignon,  alluding  to  the  scene  with  his  daughter  on 
the  seashore. 

"To  marry,"  said  Latournelle,  "men  play  as 
many  parts  as  mothers  make  their  daughters  play, 
to  get  rid  of  them." 

"Then  you  approve  of  strategy?"  asked  Modeste. 

"On  both  sides,"  exclaimed  Gobenheim,  "then 
the  match  is  equal." 

This  conversation,  carried  on  in  a  desultory  way 
across  the  whist-table  and  in  the  midst  of  cutting 
and  dealing,  turned  on  Monsieur  d'Herouville,  who 
was  thought  very  good-looking  by  the  little  lawyer, 
little  Dumay  and  little  Butscha. 

"I  see,"  said  Madame  Mignon,  with  a  smile, 
"that  Madame  Latournelle  and  my  poor  husband 
are  monstrosities  in  size  here." 

"Happily  for   him,   the  colonel   is  not  so  very 


MODESTE  MIGNON  283 

large,"  replied  Butscha  while  his  master  dealt  the 
cards,  "for  a  great  and  intelligent  man  is  always  an 
exception." 

Without  this  little  discussion  upon  the  legality 
of  matrimonial  stratagems,  perhaps  the  account  of 
the  evening,  awaited  with  such  impatience  by  But- 
scha, would  be  considered  too  long;  but  the  fortune 
for  which  so  many  secret,  cowardly  acts  had  been 
committed,  lends  to  the  details  of  private  life  an 
immense  interest,  which  social  sentiment,  so  frankly 
defined  by  Ernest  in  his  reply  to  Modeste,  will 
always  develop. 

The  next  morning  Desplein  arrived,  but  remained 
only  long  enough  to  send  to  Havre  for  fresh  post- 
horses  and  to  have  them  harnessed,  which  took 
about  an  hour.  He  decided,  after  having  examined 
Madame  Mignon,  that  she  would  recover  her  sight, 
and  he  appointed  a  month  later  as  the  opportune 
moment  for  the  operation. 

Naturally,  this  important  consultation  took  place 
before  the  agitated  occupants  of  the  Chalet,  who 
breathlessly  awaited  the  decision  of  this  prince  of 
science.  As  the  illustrious  member  of  the  Scientific 
Academy  examined  the  blind  woman's  eyes  by  the 
full  daylight,  at  the  window,  he  asked  her  a  dozen 
brief  questions.  Modeste  was  astonished  at  the 
value  of  time  to  so  celebrated  a  man,  as  she  noticed 
that  the  traveling  carriage  was  full  of  books  which 
the  savant  proposed  to  read  during  his  return  to 
Paris,  for  having  set  out  the  evening  before  he  had 
availed  of  the  night  for  sleeping  and  traveling.  The 


This  visit  was  the  event  of  the  day  and  left  a 
luminous  trace  in  Modeste's  heart  The  young  en- 
thusiast unaffectedly  admired  this  man,  whose  life 
belonged  to  others  and  with  whom  the  habit  of  occu- 
pying himself  with  physical  sufferings  had  destroyed 
the  manifestations  of  egotism.  In  the  evening, 
when  Gobenheim,  the  Latournelles  and  Butscha, 
Canalis,  Ernest  and  the  Due  d'Herouville  were 
assembled,  each  congratulated  the  members  of  the 
Mignon  family  on  the  good  news  brought  by  Des- 
plein.  Then,  naturally,  the  conversation,  in  which 
Modeste  took  the  prominent  part,  as  her  letters 
would  promise,  turned  upon  this  man  whose  genius, 
unfortunately  for  his  fame,  was  valued  only  by  the 
race  of  scientific  men  and  doctors.  Gobenheim 
allowed  a  phrase  to  escape  him,  which  in  our  day 
is  the  sacred  acme  of  genius,  in  the  conception  of 
economists  and  bankers: 

"He  makes  a  pile  of  money!" 

"He  is  said  to  be  very  eager  after  it,"  said  Ca- 
nalis. 

The  praise  given  to  Desplein  by  Modeste  annoyed 
the  poet  Vanity  acts  like  women.  Both  think 
they  lose  something  when  praise  is  given  to  others. 
Voltaire  was  jealous  of  the  wit  of  a  roue  whom 
Paris  admired  for  a  few  days,  even  as  a  duchess  is 
offended  by  the  glances  cast  upon  her  maid.  Such 
(287) 


288  MODESTE  MIGNON 

is  the  avarice  of  these  two  sentiments  that  they  con- 
sider themselves  robbed  of  the  share  given  to  a  poor 
man. 

"Do  you  think,  monsieur,"  asked  Modeste,  smil- 
ing, "that  one  should  judge  genius  by  ordinary 
standards?" 

"Perhaps,  before  all  else,  we  must  define  the  man 
of  genius,"  replied  Canalis,  "and  one  of  his  con- 
ditions is  invention ; — invention  of  a  form,  a  system 
or  a  force.  Thus  Napoleon  was  an  inventor,  apart 
from  his  other  conditions  of  genius.  He  invented 
his  method  of  making  war.  Walter  Scott  is  an  in- 
ventor; Geoffrey  Saint-Hilaire  and  Cuvier  are  in- 
ventors. Such  men  are  men  of  genius  of  the  first 
rank.  They  renew,  increase  or  modify  Science  or 
Art.  But  Desplein  is  a  man  whose  immense  talent 
consists  in  applying  exactly  the  laws  already  dis- 
covered, that  is  to  note,  by  a  natural  gift,  the  pecu- 
liarities of  each  temperament  and  the  hour  intended 
by  nature  to  perform  the  operation.  He  did  not 
found,  like  Hippocrates,  the  science  itself.  He 
did  not  discover  a  system,  like  Galen,  Broussais  or 
Rasori.  He  has  a  genius  of  execution,  like  Mo- 
scheles  upon  the  piano,  Paganini  upon  the  violin, 
and  Tarinelli  upon  his  own  larynx !  people  who  have 
developed  immense  faculties,  but  who  do  not  create 
music.  Between  Beethoven  and  Catalani,  you  will 
allow  me  to  award  to  the  one  the  immortal  crown  of 
a  genius  and  a  martyr,  and  to  the  other  innumerable 
five-franc  pieces;  with  the  one  we  are  quits,  while 
the  world  remains  always  the  debtor  of  the  other ! 


MODESTE  MIGNON  289 

We  grow  more  in  debt  every  day  to  Moliere  and  we 
have  paid  Baron  too  much." 

"I  think,  my  friend,  that  you  make  the  preroga- 
tive of  ideas  too  important,"  said  La  Briere  in  a 
gentle,  melodious  voice,  producing  a  sudden  contrast 
to  the  peremptory  tone  of  the  poet,  whose  flexible 
voice  had  abandoned  the  tone  of  cajolery  for  the 
official  tone  of  the  rostrum.  "Genius  should  be 
esteemed,  especially  on  account  of  its  usefulness. 
Parmentier,  Jacquard  and  Papin,  to  whom  statues 
will  be  erected  some  day,  are  also  men  of  genius. 
They  have  changed,  or  will  change,  the  aspect  of 
the  State  in  one  sense  or  another.  In  this  connec- 
tion Desplein  will  always  present  himself  to  the 
eyes  of  thinkers  accompanied  by  an  entire  genera- 
tion whose  tears  and  sufferings  have  ceased  through 
the  skill  of  his  powerful  hand." 

It  was  enough  that  Ernest  had  given  this  opinion 
for  Modeste  to  wish  to  contradict  it 

"At  this  rate,  monsieur,  the  man  who  discovers 
the  means  of  mowing  wheat  without  spoiling  the 
straw,  by  a  machine  which  would  do  the  work  of 
ten  reapers,  would  be  a  man  of  genius." 

"Oh!  yes,  my  child,"  said  Madame  Mignon,  "he 
would  be  blessed  by  the  poor  whose  bread  would 
cost  them  less,  and  he  who  is  blessed  by  the  poor  is 
blessed  by  God." 

"That  is  making  art  secondary  to  utility,"  replied 
Modeste,  tossing  her  head. 

"Without  utility,"  said  Charles  Mignon,  "what 
would  become  of  art?  How  would  it  support  itself? 
19 


2QO  MODESTE  MIGNON 

What  would  it  live  on,  where  would  it  find  shelter 
and  who  would  pay  the  poet?" 

"Oh!  my  dear  father,  that  is  indeed  the  opinion 
of  a  man  who  has  been  away  in  foreign  parts,  of  a 
tradesman  or  an  antediluvian.  Let  Gobenheim 
and  Monsieur  La  Briere,  who  are  interested  in  the 
solution  of  this  social  problem,  maintain  that  opinion 
and  I  can  understand  it,  but  you,  whose  life  has 
been  the  most  useless  poetry  of  this  century,  since 
your  blood  was  shed  throughout  Europe  and  your 
fearful  sufferings  exacted  by  a  giant,  have  not  pre- 
vented France  from  losing  ten  departments  acquired 
by  the  Republic;  how  can  you  fall  into  this  reason- 
ing, exceedingly  headstrong,  as  the  idealists  say  ?— 
It  is  plain  that  you  have  just  come  from  China." 

The  impertinence  of  Modeste's  speech  was  aggra- 
vated by  a  slight  tone  of  contempt  and  disdain 
which  she  had  purposely  assumed  and  which 
equally  astonished  Madame  Latournelle,  Madame 
Mignon  and  Dumay.  Madame  Latournelle  could 
not  see  through  it,  though  she  opened  her  eyes  very 
wide,  and  Butscha,  whose  attention  was  like  that  of 
a  spy,  looked  in  a  significant  manner  at  Monsieur 
Mignon  as  he  saw  the  latter 's  face  color  with  a  quick 
and  lively  indignation. 

"A  little  more,  mademoiselle,  and  you  would  have 
been  wanting  in  respect  towards  your  father,"  said 
the  colonel,  smiling,  having  been  enlightened  by 
Butscha's  glance.  "See  what  it  is  to  spoil  one's 
children." 

"I  am  an  only  child!" — she  replied  saucily. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  291 

"Only?"  repeated  the  lawyer,  accenting  the 
word. 

"Monsieur,"  replied  Modeste  sharply  to  Latour- 
nelle,  "my  father  is  very  fortunate  in  having  me 
for  his  preceptor.  He  has  given  me  life,  1  give  him 
knowledge,  he  still  remains  in  my  debt" 

"There  seems  occasion  for  it,"  said  Madame 
Mignon. 

"But  mademoiselle  is  right,"  continued  Canalis, 
as  he  rose  and  leaned  against  the  mantelpiece  in 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  his  collection  of  poses. 
"God  in  His  foresight  gave  food  and  clothing  to 
man,  and  He  has  not  given  him  art  directly !  He 
said  to  man,  'to  live,  you  must  bend  yourself 
toward  the  earth ;  to  think,  you  must  raise  yourself  to 
Me!  We  need  the  life  of  the  soul  as  much  as  the 
life  of  the  body.  Hence  these  two  utilities.  Cer- 
tainly one  does  not  shoe  himself  with  a  book,  and 
an  epic  poem  is  not  of  as  much  value  from  a  utili- 
tarian point  of  view  as  an  economical  soup  from  the 
bureau  of  public  charities.  The  most  beautiful  idea 
would  be  a  poor  substitute  for  the  sail  of  a  vessel. 
It  is  true  that  an  automatic  cotton-gin  procures 
calico  for  us  at  thirty  cents  a  metre  cheaper  than 
ever  before;  but  this  machine  and  the  perfections  of 
industry  do  not  breathe  life  to  a  people  and  will  not 
tell  in  the  future  that  they  have  existed;  whilst 
Egyptian,  Mexican,  Grecian  and  Roman  art  with 
their  masterpieces,  accused  of  being  useless,  have 
attested  the  existence  of  these  people  during  vast 
epochs  of  time,  in  which  great  intermediate  nations, 


2Q2  MODESTE  MIGNON 

stripped  of  men  of  genius,  have  disappeared  without 
leaving  on  the  globe  the  impressions  of  their 
features.  All  works  of  genius  are  the  summum  of  a 
civilization  and  presuppose  an  immense  usefulness. 
Surely  a  pair  of  shoes  do  not  outweigh  in  your  eyes 
a  theatrical  piece,  and  you  do  not  prefer  a  mill  to 
the  church  of  Saint-Ouen?  Well,  then,  a  nation 
is  animated  by  the  same  sentiments  as  a  man,  and 
man's  favorite  idea  is  to  survive  himself  morally, 
as  he  reproduces  himself  physically.  The  survival 
of  a  nation  depends  on  the  work  of  its  men  of 
genius.  At  this  moment,  France  proves  emphatic- 
ally the  truth  of  this  theory.  England  surpasses 
her  in  industry,  commerce  and  navigation;  and, 
nevertheless,  she  stands,  I  believe,  at  the  head  of 
the  world  through  her  artists,  her  men  of  talent  and 
the  style  of  her  productions.  There  is  not  an  artist 
nor  an  intellect  who  does  not  come  to  ask  Paris  for 
his  diploma.  Just  now  there  is  no  school  of  paint- 
ing, save  in  France,  and  we  shall,  perhaps,  reign 
more  surely  and  longer  by  the  book  than  by  the 
sword.  In  Ernest's  system,  the  flowers  of  luxury 
would  be  suppressed,  the  beauty  of  women,  music, 
painting  and  poetry.  Society  would  not  be  over- 
thrown, but,  I  ask  you,  who  would  willingly  accept 
such  a  life?  Everything  that  is  useful  is  frightful 
and  homely.  The  kitchen  is  indispensable  to  a 
house,  but  you  do  not  choose  to  stay  there  and  you 
live  in  a  salon,  which  you  decorate  like  this  with 
things  entirely  superfluous.  To  what  use  are  these 
charming  pictures  and  this  sculptured  wood  ?  There 


MODESTE  MIGNON  293 

is  beauty  only  in  that  which  seems  useless.  We 
have  called  the  period  of  Louis  XVI.  'the  Renais- 
sance,' with  perfect  justness  of  expression.  This 
period  was  the  dawn  of  a  new  world.  Men  will 
speak  of  it  still  when  many  past  centuries  will  be 
forgotten,  centuries  whose  only  merit  will  be  in 
having  existed,  like  the  millions  of  beings  who  are 
but  units  in  a  generation." 

"Rubbish  let  it  be!  my  rubbish  is  very  dear  to 
me,"  responded  the  Due  d'Herouville  pleasantly, 
during  the  silence  which  followed  this  pompous 
prose  debate. 

"Does  the  art,  in  which  according  to  you,  genius 
is  called  to  make  its  evolutions,  exist  at  all  ?"  asked 
Butscha,  attacking  Canal  is.  "Is  it  not  a  splendid 
lie  which  the  social  man  is  deluded  enough  to 
believe  ?  What  need  have  I  for  a  Norman  landscape 
in  my  room,  when  I  can  see  one  much  better  done 
by  God  ?  We  have  more  beautiful  poems  in  our 
dreams  than  the  Iliad.  For  a  small  sum  of  money 
I  can  find  at  Valogne,  at  Carentan,  in  Provence,  at 
Aries,  many  a  Venus  just  as  beautiful  as  those  of 
Titian.  The  Gazette  des  Tribunaux  publishes 
stories,  somewhat  different  from  those  of  Walter 
Scott,  which  end  terribly  in  blood  and  not  in  ink. 
Happiness  and  virtue  are  above  art  or  genius." 

"Bravo,  Butscha!"  cried  Madame  Latournelle. 

"What  did  he  say?  asked  Canalis  of  La  Briere, 
failing  to  gather  in  the  eyes  and  attitude  of  Modeste 
the  charming  testimony  of  her  artless  admiration. 

The   scorn   which  she   had   showed   toward   La 


294  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Briere,  and  above  all  the  disrespectful  speeches  of 
the  girl  to  her  father,  had  so  saddened  the  poor  young 
man,  that  he  did  not  reply  to  Canalis;  his  eyes 
were  fixed  sadly  on  Modeste  in  profound  thought. 
The  clerk's  argument  was  taken  up  and  cleverly 
sustained  by  the  Due  d'-Herouville,  who  ended  by 
saying  that  the  ecstasies  of  Saint  Therese  were  far 
more  noble  than  any  creation  of  Lord  Byron. 

"Oh!  Monsieur  le  Due,  that  was  a  personal 
poetry  only,  whereas  the  genius  of  Byron  and 
Moliere  have  benefited  the  world  at  large,"  said 
Modeste. 

"How  does  that  agree  with  Monsieur  le  Baron?" 
interrupted  Charles  Mignon  quickly.  "You  are  now 
trying  to  make  us  believe  that  genius  should  be 
useful  as  if  it  were  a  bale  of  cotton;  but  perhaps 
you  think  logic  as  headstrong,  as  old  as  your  poor, 
good  father." 

Butscha,  La  Briere  and  Madame  Latournelle  ex- 
changed glances  which  were  more  or  less  mocking, 
which  so  irritated  Modeste  that  for  a  time  she  was 
silent 

"Never  mind,  mademoiselle,"  said  Canalis  smil- 
ing at  her,  "we  are  neither  beaten  nor  caught  in  a 
contradiction.  Every  work  of  art,  be  it  of  litera- 
ture, music,  painting,  sculpture  or  architecture,  im- 
plies a  positive  social  utility,  equal  to  that  of  all 
other  commercial  products.  Art  is  pre-eminently 
commerce,  it  presupposes  it  A  book  to-day  is 
published,  which  brings  its  author  something  like 
ten  thousand  francs.  The  printing  of  it  means  the 


MODESTE  MIGNON  295 

manufactory  of  paper,  a  foundry,  book  binding,  in 
fact,  a  thousand  arms  put  into  action.  The  execu- 
tion of  a  symphony  by  Beethoven  or  an  opera  by 
Rossini  demands  the  work  of  just  as  many  arms, 
machinery  and  manufactories.  The  cost  of  a  monu- 
ment is  an  almost  brutal  illustration  of  this  point 
Indeed  we  may  say  that  the  works  of  genius  have 
an  extremely  costly  basis,  and  necessarily  are 
profitable  to  the  workingman. " 

Once  started  on  this  theme,  Canal  is  spoke  for 
some  minutes  with  a  luxury  of  images  and  phrases 
which  greatly  delighted  him;  but  like  a  great  many 
fine  talkers,  it  happened  at  the  conclusion  of  his 
remarks,  that  he  found  himself  at  the  point  from 
which  he  began  to  argue  and  that  he  was  really  in 
accord  with  La  Briere  without  himself  perceiving  it 

"I  observe  with  pleasure,  my  dear  baron,"  said 
the  little  Due  d'Herouville  slyly,  "that  you  will 
make  a  great  constitutional  minister." 

"Oh!"  said  Canalis  with  the  gesture  of  a  great 
man,  "what  is  proved  in  all  these  discussions  ?  The 
eternal  truth  of  this  axiom:  all  things  are  true  and  all 
things  are  false.  Moral  truths,  as  created  beings, 
change  their  aspect  according  to  the  point  of  view." 

"However,  Society  exists  through  certain  decided 
opinions,"  said  the  Due  d'Herouville. 

"What  lax  ideas, "  whispered  Madame  Latournelle 
to  her  husband. 

"He  is  a  poet,"  replied  Gobenheim,  who  had 
heard  the  whisper. 

Canalis,  who  was  ten  leagues  above  the  heads  of 


2Q6  MODESTE  MIGNON 

his  audience,  and  who  after  all  may  have  been  right 
in  his  last  philosophical  remark,  took  the  aspect  of 
the  cold  indifference  depicted  on  all  the  faces  as 
symptoms  of  their  ignorance;  but  seeing  that  Mo- 
deste  had  understood  him,  he  was  satisfied,  being 
unaware  of  the  fact  that  monologue  is  disagreeable 
to  country  folks  whose  principal  occupation  is  to 
show  Parisians  the  manner  of  life,  the  intelligence 
and  wisdom  of  the  provinces. 

"Is  it  long  since  you  saw  the  Duchesse  de  Chau- 
lieu?"  the  duke  asked  of  Canal  is,  to  change  the 
conversation. 

"I  left  her  only  six  days  ago,"  replied  Canalis. 

"She  was  well  ?" 

"Perfectly  well." 

"Have  the  goodness  to  recall  me  to  her  remem- 
brance when  you  write  to  her." 

"They  say  that  she  is  very  charming?"  said 
Modeste  addressing  the  duke. 

"Monsieur  le  Baron  can  speak  more  knowingly 
on  that  point  than  I,"  replied  the  Grand  Equerry. 

"More  than  charming,"  said  Canalis,  accepting 
the  perfidy  of  Monsieur  d'Herouville;  "but  then, 
mademoiselle,  I  am  partial.  She  has  been  my 
friend  for  ten  years;  I  owe  her  all  that  is  good  in 
me,  she  preserved  me  from  the  dangers  of  the  world. 
Indeed,  Monsieur  le  Due  de  Chaulieu  helped  me  to 
enter  my  present  position.  Without  the  protection 
of  that  family  the  king,  the  princesses,  would  have 
forgotten  a  poor  poet  like  me;  and  my  affection  for 
the  duchess  will  always  be  full  of  gratitude." 


MODESTE  MIGNON  297 

This  was  said  in  a  voice  quivering  with  emotion. 

"How  we  ought  to  love  her  who  has  inclined  you 
to  write  those  beautiful  songs  and  inspired  you  with 
such  beautiful  feelings,"  said  Modeste  dreamily. 
"Can  one  conceive  of  a  poet  without  a  Muse?" 

"He  would  be  without  heart  and  would  write  dry 
verses  like  Voltaire,  who  never  loved  any  one  ex- 
cept— Voltaire,"  replied  Canal  is. 

"Did  you  not  do  me  the  honor  to  tell  me  in  Paris, 
that  you  never  felt  the  sentiments  that  you  ex- 
pressed?" asked  the  Breton  of  Canal  is. 

"The  shoe  fits,  my  brave  soldier,"  said  the  poet, 
smiling,  "but  understand  that  it  is  possible  to  have 
at  the  same  time  much  heart  in  the  intellectual  and 
in  real  life.  One  can  express  much  beautiful  senti- 
ment without  feeling  it,  and  feel  much  without  ex- 
pressing it.  La  Briere,  my  friend  here,  is  desper- 
ately in  love,"  said  he  with  generosity,  looking  at 
Modeste,  "while  I,  who  certainly  love  as  much  as 
he — at  least  I  think  so — can  give  my  love  a  literary 
form  in  harmony  with  its  intensity.  But  I  do  not 
promise,  mademoiselle,"  he  said,  turning  to  Modeste 
with  graceful  affectation,  "not  to  be  without  inspi- 
ration to-morrow." 

Thus  the  poet  triumphed  over  all  obstacles.  In 
honor  of  his  love,  he  overcame  all  difficulties  thrown 
in  his  way,  and  Modeste  remained  dazzled  by  this 
Parisian  brilliancy  which  she  knew  nothing  about 
and  which  scintillated  constantly  in  this  man's  con- 
versation. 

"What  an  acrobat!"  said  Butscha  in  Latournelle's 


298  MODESTE  MIGNON 

ear  after  having  listened  to  a  magnificent  tirade  upon 
the  Catholic  religion  and  the  happiness  of  having  a 
pious  woman  for  a  wife,  which  was  served  in  re- 
sponse to  a  remark  made  by  Madame  Mignon. 

Modeste's  eyes  were  blindfolded.  The  distinc- 
tion of  the  debater  and  the  attention  which  she  had 
prearranged  to  give  Canal  is,  prevented  her  from 
seeing  what  Butscha  easily  remarked:  the  lack  of 
simplicity  in  declamation,  the  emphasis  substituted 
for  sentiment  and  all  the  incoherencies  of  speech 
which  had  caused  the  clerk  to  make  his  almost  cruel 
estimate  of  him.  When  Monsieur  Mignon,  Dumay, 
Butscha  and  Latournelle  were  astonished  at  the  in- 
consequence of  Canal  is, — even  taking  into  consid- 
eration the  inconsequence  of  such  conversations  in 
France, — Modeste  admired  the  poet's  suppleness  and 
said  to  herself,  as  she  led  him  through  the  by-ways 
of  her  fancy:  "He  loves  me!"  Butscha,  like  all  the 
other  spectators  of  what  we  must  call  a  stage  scene, 
was  struck  with  the  principal  defect  of  all  egoists, 
which  Canal  is,  like  all  people  accustomed  to  dis- 
course in  salons,  allowed  to  be  seen  too  plainly. 
Whether  he  understood  in  advance  what  his  inter- 
locutor was  going  to  say,  whether  he  did  not  listen 
or  whether  he  had  the  faculty  of  listening  while 
thinking  of  something  else,  Melchior's  face  pre- 
sented an  indifferent  expression  which  discouraged 
the  speaker  as  much  as  it  wounded  his  vanity. 

Inattention  is  not  only  a  want  of  politeness,  but 
is  a  lack  of  respect.  Now,  Canal  is  carried  this 
habit  a  little  too  far,  for  he  often  forgot  to  reply  to 


MODESTE  MIGNON  299 

a  speech  which  required  an  answer,  and  passed 
without  any  polite  transition  to  the  subject  which 
interested  him.  This  impertinence  is  accepted 
without  protest  in  a  man  of  high  position,  although 
it  engenders  a  leaven  of  hate  and  vengeance  in 
the  depths  of  many  hearts,  and  between  equals  it 
goes  so  far  as  to  destroy  friendship.  When,  per- 
chance, Melchior  was  forced  to  listen,  he  fell  into 
another  fault:  he  only  lent  his  attention  and  never 
gave  it. 

Although  this  may  not  be  so  rude,  this  semi-con- 
cession annoys  the  listener  almost  as  much  and 
leaves  him  dissatisfied.  Nothing  adds  more  to  the 
pleasure  of  society  than  the  small  change  of  atten- 
tion. "He  that  hath  ears  to  hear,  let  him  hear,"  is 
not  only  a  Gospel  precept,  it  is  also  excellent 
advice;  follow  it  and  nothing  else  will  matter 
much,  not  even  vice.  Canal  is  took  a  great  deal  of 
pains  to  please  Modeste,  and  although  he  was  most 
complaisant  with  her,  he  became  himself  again  with 
the  others. 

Modeste,  careless  of  the  fact  that  she  was  making 
ten  martyrs  by  the  request,  begged  Canal  is  to  read 
one  of  his  pieces  of  verse.  She  wished,  she  said,  a 
sample  of  his  talent  as  reader,  of  which  she  had 
heard  so  much. 

Canal  is  took  the  volume  which  Modeste  handed 
him  and  cooed — for  that  is  the  proper  word  for 
it — that  one  of  his  poems  which  was  considered 
the  finest— an  imitation  of  Moore's  "Loves  of 
the  Angels,"  entitled  VlTALIS,  which  Madame 


300  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Latournelle,  Madame  Dumay,  Gobenheim  and  the 
cashier  took  in  with  several  yawns. 

"If  you  play  whist  well,  monsieur,"  said  Goben- 
heim, presenting  five  cards  held  like  a  fan,  "I  will 
say  that  I  have  never  seen  a  man  so  accomplished 
as  you." 

This  remark  was  greeted  with  laughter,  for  it 
was  the  expression  of  everyone's  thought 

"I  play  it  enough  to  be  able  to  live  in  the  prov- 
inces the  rest  of  my  days,"  replied  Canalis.  "That 
no  doubt  is  enough  1  iterature  and  conversation  for 
whist  players,"  he  added,  throwing  the  volume  im- 
patiently on  the  table. 

This  detail  will  show  the  dangers  which  beset 
the  hero  of  a  salon,  when  like  Canalis,  he  goes  out 
of  his  sphere;  he  then  resembles  the  favored  actor 
of  a  certain  public  whose  talent  is  lost  in  leaving 
his  own  boards  for  those  of  a  higher-class  theatre. 


The  baron  and  the  duke  played  against  Goben- 
heim  and  Latournelle.  Modeste  took  a  seat  near 
the  poet,  to  the  despair  of  poor  Ernest,  who  followed 
the  progress  of  the  fascination  which  Canal  is  ex- 
erted on  the  capricious  girl.  La  Briere  did  not 
possess  this  gift  of  seduction  with  which  Melchior 
was  favored.  Nature  frequently  denies  it  to  gen- 
uine-hearted people  who  are  usually  timid.  This 
gift  demands  courage,  a  vivacity  of  ways  and  means 
which  might  be  called  the  slack-rope  of  the  mind, 
even  a  little  mimicry,  but  is  there  not  always, 
morally  speaking,  something  of  the  comedian  in  a 
poet  ?  Between  expressing  sentiments  which  we  do 
not  feel,  but  of  which  we  can  imagine  all  the  varia- 
tions, and  feigning  them  when  we  have  need  of 
them  for  success  on  the  stage  of  private  life,  there 
is  a  great  difference.  Nevertheless,  if  the  neces- 
sary hypocrisy  of  a  man  of  the  world  may  have 
gangrened  a  poet,  he  becomes  able  to  transport  the 
faculties  of  his  talent  into  the  expression  of  any 
required  sentiment,  as  a  man  condemned  to  solitude 
ends  by  transmitting  his  heart  into  his  mind. 

"He  is  only  working  for  her  millions,"  said  La 
Briere  sadly  to  himself,  "and  yet  he  plays  passion 
so  well  that  Modeste  will  believe  in  it" 

Instead  of  trying  to  be  more  amiable  and  more 
clever  than  his  rival,  La  Briere  imitated  the  Due 
(301) 


302  MODESTE  MIGNON 

d'Herouville  and  remained  gloomy,  uneasy  and 
watchful,  and,  whereas,  the  courtier  studied  the 
freaks  of  the  young  heiress,  Ernest  was  a  prey  to 
the  trials  of  the  direst  jealousy.  He  had  not  ob- 
tained a  single  glance  from  his  idol  when  he  went 
away  for  a  few  moments  with  Butscha. 

"It  is  all  over,"  he  said,  "she  is  mad  over  him, 
I  am  more  than  displeasing  to  her,  and,  moreover, 
she  is  right!  Canal  is  is  charming,  there  is  clever- 
ness even  in  his  silence,  passion  in  his  eyes,  poetry 
in  his  conversation — " 

"Is  he  an  honest  man?"  asked  Butscha. 

"Oh!  yes,"  replied  La  Briere.  "He  is  loyal 
and  chivalrous  and  capable,  under  Modeste's  influ- 
ence, of  losing  those  little  affectations  which  Ma- 
dame de  Chaulieu  has  taught  him." 

"You  are  a  brave  fellow,"  said  the  little  hunch- 
back. "But  is  he  capable  of  loving — will  he  love 
her?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  La  Briere.  "Has  she 
spoken  of  me  ?"  he  asked  after  a  moment  of  silence. 

"Yes,"  said  Butscha,  who  recalled  to  La  Briere 
what  Modeste  had  said  about  disguises. 

The  secretary  threw  himself  upon  a  bench  and 
buried  his  head  in  his  hands;  he  could  not  keep 
back  the  tears  and  he  did  not  wish  Butscha  to  see 
them;  but  the  dwarf  was  just  the  man  to  guess  at 
them. 

"What  is  the  matter,  monsieur?"  asked  Butscha. 

"She  is  right!"  said  La  Briere,  getting  up 
quickly,  "I  am  a  wretch!" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  303 

And  he  related  the  deception  into  which  Canal  is 
had  led  him,  but  assuring  Butscha  that  he  had 
wanted  to  undeceive  Modeste  before  she  unmasked 
herself  and  apostrophizing,  in  youthful  fashion,  his 
unhappy  destiny.  Butscha  sympathetically  recog- 
nized his  love  in  his  vigorous,  naive  language,  his 
genuineness  and  his  profound  anxiety. 

"But  why  don't  you  show  your  real  self  to  made- 
moiselle," said  Butscha,  "why  do  you  leave  every- 
thing to  your  rival  ?" 

"Ah!  then  you  have  never  felt  your  throat 
tighten  when  you  tried  to  speak  to  her.  You  have 
not  felt  something  at  the  roots  of  your  hair  and 
on  the  surface  of  your  skin  as  she  looks  at  you 
for  an  instant  when  her  eye  wanders — "  cried 
La  Briere. 

"But  you  had  enough  judgment  to  show  sadness 
when  she  as  good  as  said  to  her  father:  'You  are 
a  crank!'" 

"Monsieur,  I  love  her  too  well  not  to  have  felt  a 
dagger  enter  my  heart  when  I  heard  her  thus  belie 
the  perfect  ideal  I  had  formed  of  her." 

"Canal is  justified  her  in  it,"  said  Butscha. 

"If  she  had  more  self-love  than  heart,  one  might 
lose  her  without  regret,"  replied  La  Briere. 

At  this  moment  Modeste,  followed  by  Canal  is, 
who  had  lost  at  cards,  came  out  with  her  father  and 
Madame  Dumay  to  breathe  the  air  of  the  starlit 
night  While  his  daughter  promenaded  with  the 
poet,  Charles  Mignon  left  her  to  join  La  Briere. 

"Your  friend,  monsieur,  ought  to  have  been  a 


304  MODESTE  MIGNON 

lawyer,"  he  said  smiling  and  looking  attentively  at 
the  young  man. 

"You  must  not  judge  a  poet  with  the  severity 
which  you  would  an  ordinary  man  like  me,  for  ex- 
ample," replied  La  Briere.  "The  poet  has  his 
mission.  He  is  destined  by  nature  to  see  poetry 
in  questions,  just  as  he  expresses  it  in  everything. 
Even  when  you  think  him  inconsistent  with  him- 
self, he  is  true  to  his  vocation.  He  is  the  painter, 
copying  equally  well  a  Madonna  or  a  courtesan. 
Moliere  was  as  correct  in  his  characters  of  old  men 
as  in  those  of  young  people,  and  surely  Moliere  had 
sound  judgment  These  witticisms,  corruptive  to 
inferior  men,  have  no  influence  upon  the  character 
of  truly  great  men." 

Charles  Mignon  pressed  La  Briere's  hand,  saying 
to  him: 

"This  facility  would,  nevertheless,  serve  to 
justify  diametrically  opposed  actions,  especially  in 
politics." 

"Ah!  mademoiselle,"  replied  Canal  is  at  this 
moment,  with  a  cajoling  voice  to  a  mischievous 
remark  by  Modeste,  "do  not  believe  that  the  multi- 
plicity of  sensations  takes  the  least  strength  from 
the  sentiments.  Poets,  more  than  other  men,  ought 
to  love  with  constancy  and  faith.  To  begin  with, 
do  not  be  jealous  of  that  which  is  called  the  Muse. 
Happy  the  wife  of  a  busy  man !  If  you  could  hear 
the  complaints  of  the  women  who  endure  the  burden 
of  the  idleness  of  husbands  without  office,  or  to 
whom  wealth  allows  great  leisure,  you  would  know 


MODESTE  MIGNON  305 

that  the  chief  happiness  of  a  Parisian  woman  is  the 
freedom,  the  sovereignty  at  home.  But  we  authors 
allow  the  wife  to  wield  the  sceptre  with  us,  for  it 
is  impossible  for  us  to  descend  to  the  tyranny  exer- 
cised by  small  minds.  We  have  better  things  to 
do. — If  I  should  ever  marry,  which  I  vow  to  you  is 
a  catastrophe  far  distant  from  me,  I  should  wish 
that  my  wife  should  have  the  moral  liberty  which 
a  mistress  keeps  and  which  is,  perhaps,  the  source 
of  all  her  attractions." 

Canalis  thus  displayed  his  spirits  and  graces  in 
speaking  of  love,  marriage  and  the  adoration  of 
women,  in  discussion  with  Modeste,  until  Monsieur 
Mignon,  who  had  just  joined  them,  found  the  occa- 
sion, in  a  moment  of  silence,  to  take  his  daughter 
by  the  arm  and  lead  her  to  Ernest,  whom  the 
worthy  soldier  had  counseled  to  attempt  an  ex- 
planation with  her. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Ernest  in  a  faltering  voice, 
"it  is  impossible  for  me  to  remain  under  the  weight 
of  your  displeasure.  I  do  not  defend  myelf ;  I  do 
not  seek  to  justify  myself.  I  only  wish  to  observe 
to  you  that  before  reading  your  flattering  letter  ad- 
dressed to  the  person  himself,  and  not  to  the  poet, 
— the  last,  in  short,  I  wished  to  dispel  the  error  in 
which  you  were,  and  let  you  know  of  it  by  a  word 
written  from  Havre.  All  the  sentiments  which  I 
had  the  honor  to  express  to  you  are  sincere.  A 
hope  shone  for  me,  when  at  Paris  your  father  said 
he  was  poor;  but  now,  if  all  is  lost,  if  I  have  only 
eternal  regrets,  why  should  I  remain  here,  where 


306  MODESTE  MIGNON 

all  is  agony  to  me? — Allow  me  then  to  carry  away 
one  smile  from  you.  It  will  be  engraved  upon  my. 
heart" 

"Monsieur,"  replied  Modeste,  who  appeared  cold 
and  absent-minded,  "I  am  not  mistress  here,  but 
surely  I  should  regret  to  retain  here  those  who  find 
neither  pleasure  nor  happiness." 

She  left  the  auditor  as  she  took  Madame  Dumay's 
arm  to  enter  the  house.  Some  moments  later,  all 
the  personages  of  this  domestic  scene,  again  assem- 
bled in  the  salon,  were  much  surprised  to  see  Mo- 
deste seated  at  the  side  of  the  Due  d'Herouville, 
flirting  with  him  as  the  most  artful  Parisian  woman 
would  have  done.  She  interested  herself  in  his 
play,  gave  him  the  advice  which  he  asked,  and 
found  the  opportunity  to  say  flattering  things  to 
him,  ranking  the  accident  of  noble  birth  as  lofty  as 
that  of  talent  or  beauty.  Canal  is  knew,  or  thought 
he  knew,  the  cause  of  this  change,  for  he  had 
wished  to  pique  Modeste,  in  treating  marriage  as  a 
catastrophe  and  in  showing  himself  as  averse  to  it; 
but,  like  all  who  play  with  fire,  he  had  burned  him- 
self. Modeste's  pride,  her  disdain,  alarmed  the 
poet,  and  he  returned  to  her  giving  the  spectacle  of 
a  jealousy,  all  the  more  visible,  as  it  was  assumed. 
Modeste,  implacable  as  the  angels,  enjoyed  the 
pleasure  which  the  use  of  her  power  gave  her  and 
naturally  she  abused  it  The  Due  d'Herouville  had 
never  had  such  an  agreeable  time!  A  woman  actu- 
ally smiled  at  him!  At  eleven  o'clock,  an  unheard- 
of  hour  at  the  Chalet,  the  three  lovers  left,  the  duke 


MODESTE  MIGNON  307 

finding  Modeste  charming,  Canalis  finding  her  ex- 
ceedingly coquettish,  and  La  Briere  broken-hearted 
by  her  severity. 

For  a  week,  the  heiress  behaved  with  her  three 
lovers  as  she  had  during  this  evening,  so  that  the 
poet  appeared  to  have  the  ascendency  over  his 
rivals,  notwithstanding  the  whims  and  freaks  which 
from  time  to  time  gave  the  Due  d'Herouville  hope. 
Modeste's  want  of  respect  toward  her  father  and  the 
great  liberties  she  took  with  him,  her  impatience 
with  her  blind  mother  in  doing  perfunctorily  those 
little  services  which  formerly  were  the  triumph  of 
her  fil  ial  piety, seemed  the  effect  of  a  fanciful  disposi- 
tion and  of  a  freedom  allowed  since  her  childhood. 
When  Modeste  went  too  far,  she  moralized  to  her- 
self and  attributed  her  frivolousness  and  her  pranks 
to  her  independent  spirit  She  declared  to  the  duke 
and  to  Canalis  her  distaste  for  obedience,  and 
regarded  it  as  a  real  obstacle  to  her  marrying,  in 
this  way  catechising  the  moral  status  of  her  wooers 
after  the  manner  of  those  who  dig  the  earth  in  order 
to  take  from  it  gold,  coal,  stone  or  water. 

"I  shall  never  find,"  she  said,  the  evening  before 
the  installation  of  the  family  in  the  villa  was  to 
take  place,  "a  husband  who  will  bear  my  caprices 
with  the  goodness  of  my  father,  who  has  never 
deviated  from  it,  nor  with  the  indulgence  of  my 
adorable  mother." 

"They  know  they  are  beloved,  mademoiselle," 
said  La  Briere. 

"Be  assured,   mademoiselle,  that  your  husband 


308  MODESTE  MIGNON 

will  appreciate  the  value  of  his  treasure,"  added  the 
duke. 

"You  have  more  spirit  and  resolution  than  is 
necessary  to  discipline  a  husband,"  said  Canal  is 
laughing. 

Modeste  smiled  as  Henri  IV.  ought  to  have  smiled 
after  having  revealed  to  a  foreign  ambassador,  the 
character  of  his  three  principal  ministers  by  three 
replies  to  an  insidious  question. 

The  day  of  the  dinner,  Modeste,  influenced  by 
the  preference  which  she  gave  to  Canal  is,  walked 
for  a  long  time  alone  with  him  on  the  gravel  plot 
which  was  between  the  house  and  the  lawn,  orna- 
mented with  flowers.  From  the  gestures  of  the 
poet  and  from  the  appearance  of  the  young  heiress, 
it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  listened  favorably  to 
Canalis.  So  the  two  Mesdemoiselles  d'Herouville 
came  to  interrupt  this  scandalous  te'te-a-te'te,  and 
with  the  cleverness  natural  to  women  on  such  occa- 
sions, they  led  the  conversation  to  court  matters, 
upon  the  brilliancy  of  an  office  of  the  Crown,  in  ex- 
plaining the  differences  which  existed  between  the 
offices  of  the  king's  household  and  those  of  the 
Crown ;  they  tried  to  intoxicate  Modeste's  mind  by 
touching  her  pride  and  showing  her  one  of  the 
highest  destinies  to  which  a  woman  could  aspire. 

"To  have  a  duke  for  a  son,"  exclaimed  the  elder 
woman,  "is  a  positive  advantage.  This  title  is  a 
fortune,  entirely  unassailable,  which  one  gives  to 
his  children." 

"To  what  chance,"  said  Canalis,  displeased  at 


MODESTE  MIGNON  309 

having  his  conversation  interrupted,  "can  we  attrib- 
ute the  little  success  which  Monsieur  the  Grand 
Equerry  has  had  until  the  present  time,  in  the 
matter  in  which  this  title  can  best  serve  a  man's 
pretensions?" 

The  two  ladies  cast  a  look  at  Canalis  which  was 
as  full  of  poison  as  the  bite  of  a  viper  would  have 
been,  and  they  were  so  disconcerted  by  Modeste's 
mocking  smile  that  they  could  not  say  a  word  in 
reply. 

"Monsieur  the  Grand  Equerry,"  said  Modeste  to 
Canalis,  "has  never  reproached  you  for  the  humil- 
ity which  your  fame  inspires.  Why  bear  him 
malice  for  his  modesty?" 

"Besides,  we  have  not  yet  met  a  woman  worthy 
of  my  nephew's  rank,"  said  the  elder  lady.  "We 
have  met  some  who  had  only  the  fortune  for  this 
position ;  others,  without  the  fortune,  who  had  only 
intelligence;  and  I  avow  that  we  have  been  obliged 
to  wait  a  long  time  before  God  has  given  us  the  op- 
portunity to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  person  in 
whom  nobility,  intelligence  and  the  fortune  of  a 
Duchesse  d'Herouville  are  to  be  found.  There  are, 
my  dear  Modeste,"  said  Helene  d'Herouville,  as  she 
led  her  new  friend  a  few  steps  away,  "a  thousand 
Barons  de  Canalis  in  the  kingdom,  as  there  are  a 
hundred  poets  at  Paris  his  equal,  and  he  is  so  little 
a  great  man,  that  I,  a  poor  girl  destined  to  take  the 
veil  in  default  of  a  dowry,  would  not  have  him. 
Besides,  you  do  not  know  what  a  young  man  is  who 
has  been  taken  advantage  of  for  ten  years  by  the 


310  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Duchesse  de  Chaulieu.  Really,  only  an  old  woman 
almost  sixty,  could  submit  to  the  little  weaknesses 
with  which  it  is  said  the  great  poet  is  afflicted,  and 
the  least  of  which  in  Louis  XIV.  was  an  insupport- 
able fault  But  the  duchess  does  not  suffer  from 
them  as  much,  it  is  true,  as  a  wife  would,  for  she 
has  not  always  had  him  with  her  as  a  husband 
would  be — "  and  practising  one  of  those  manoeuvres 
peculiar  to  women  between  themselves,  Helene 
d'Herouville  repeated  in  a  whisper  the  scandals 
which  women,  jealous  of  Madame  de  Chaulieu, 
spread  about  the  poet.  This  little  detail,  common 
enough  in  young  people's  conversations,  will  show 
with  what  desperation  the  fortune  of  the  Comte  de 
la  Bastie  was  already  contested. 

In  ten  days,  the  opinions  at  the  Chalet  had  greatly 
varied  about  the  three  personages  who  aspired  to 
Modeste's  hand.  This  change,  which  was  entirely 
to  Canal  is's  disadvantage,  was  based  upon  consider- 
ations of  a  nature  which  ought  to  cause  the  posses- 
sors of  any  kind  of  fame  to  pause  and  reflect.  It 
cannot  be  denied  when  we  remember  the  passion 
with  which  autograph  collecting  is  pursued,  that 
public  curiosity  is  intensely  excited  by  celebrity. 
Most  provincial  people  evidently  do  not  take  an 
exact  account  of  the  way  in  which  illustrious  per- 
sons put  on  their  cravats,  walk  upon  the  boulevard, 
stare  into  vacancy,  or  eat  a  cutlet;  for  when  they 
see  a  man  dressed  fashionably,  or  shining  in  a  pop- 
ularity more  or  less  fleeting, — but  always  envied, 
— some  say:  "Oh!  that  is  he!"  or  even:  "He  is 


MODESTE  MIGNON  311 

a  character!"  and  other  strange  exclamations.  In 
a  word,  the  strange  charm  which  all  kinds  of  fame 
cause,  even  when  justly  acquired,  is  not  maintained. 
It  is,  particularly  for  superficial  persons,  mockers, 
or  those  who  are  envious,  a  sensation  fleeting  as 
lightning,  and  which  does  not  reappear.  It  seems 
that  glory,  like  the  sun,  warm  and  luminous  at  a 
distance,  is,  if  one  approaches  it,  cold  as  the  summit 
of  an  Alp.  Perhaps  man  is  only  great  to  his  peers, 
and  the  faults  inherent  to  the  human  condition  dis- 
appear sooner  to  their  eyes  than  to  those  of  common 
admirers.  A  poet,  to  please  every  day,  should  be 
bound  to  display  the  deceitful  graces  of  people  who 
understand  how  to  make  their  obscurity  pardoned 
by  their  pleasing  ways  and  their  agreeable  conver- 
sation; for,  besides  genius,  everyone  demands  of 
him  the  weak  virtues  of  the  salon  and  the  insipidity 
of  the  family.  The  great  poet  of  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Germain,  who  did  not  comply  with  this  social 
law,  saw  an  insulting  indifference  succeed  the  be- 
wilderment caused  by  his  conversations  on  the  first 
evenings.  Brilliancy,  lavished  without  limit,  pro- 
duces upon  the  soul  the  effect  of  a  glassware  shop 
upon  the  eyes ;  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the  fire, 
the  brilliancy  of  Canal  is  soon  wearied  those  peo- 
ple, who,  according  to  their  way  of  putting  it,  liked 
solidity.  Soon  obliged  to  show  himself  an  ordinary 
man,  the  poet  encountered  many  dangers  upon  a 
ground  where  La  Briere  conquered  the  approbation 
of  those  who  at  first  had  found  him  sullen.  They 
felt  the  necessity  of  avenging  themselves  upon  the 


312  MODESTE  MIGNON 

reputation  of  Canal  is,  by  preferring  his  friend  to  him. 
The  best  persons  are  influenced  by  these  things. 
The  simple  and  straightforward  auditor  offended  no 
one's  self-love,  and  in  returning  to  him,  each  one 
discovered  in  him  heart,  true  modesty,  safe  discre- 
tion, and  an  excellent  bearing.  The  Due  d'Herou- 
ville  placed  Ernest  for  political  worth  far  above 
Canal  is.  The  poet,  ill-balanced,  ambitious  and 
changeable  as  Tasso,  loved  luxury  and  grandeur 
and  he  ran  into  debt;  while  the  young  lawyer  of 
an  equable  disposition,  lived  prudently,  usefully, 
without  noise,  waiting  for  rewards  without  begging 
for  them,  and  saving  money.  Canal  is  had,  besides, 
to  those  of  the  middle-class  who  watched  him,  a 
special  reason  for  distrust.  For  two  or  three  days 
past,  he  had  showed  movements  of  impatience,  dis- 
couragement, melancholy  without  any  apparent 
reason,  of  changes  of  temper,  the  fruits  of  the  ner- 
vous temperament  of  poets.  These  queer  ways, — 
the  provincial  expression, — engendered  by  the 
anxieties  which  his  wrongs  towards  the  Duchesse 
de  Chaulieu  caused  him,  which  had  grown  greater 
from  day  to  day,  and  to  whom  he  should  have  writ- 
ten without  being  able  to  bring  himself  to  it, — all 
these  were  carefully  remarked  by  the  gentle  Amer- 
ican and  by  the  worthy  Madame  Latournelle,  and 
were  the  subject  of  more  than  one  conversation  be- 
tween them  and  Madame  Mignon.  Canal  is  felt  the 
effects  of  these  conversations  without  being  able  to 
explain  them.  The  attention  was  not  the  same,  the 
countenances  offered  to  him  no  longer  that  enchanted 


MODESTE  MIGNON  313 

appearance  of  the  first  days;  while  Ernest  com- 
menced to  make  himself  heard.  For  two  days  the 
poet  attempted  to  captivate  Modeste  and  profited  by 
every  instant  when  he  found  himself  alone  with  her 
to  surround  her  with  the  net  of  passionate  language. 
Modeste's  heightened  color  had  apprised  the  two 
ladies  with  what  pleasure  the  heiress  listened  to  the 
delicious  conceits,  deliciously  said;  and  anxious  at 
the  progress  of  affairs,  they  had  just  recourse  to  the 
ultima  ratio  of  women  in  like  cases, — that  is,  those 
calumnies  which  rarely  fail  of  their  effect, — being 
directed  to  the  most  violent  physical  repugnances. 
Therefore,  as  he  placed  himself  at  table,  the  poet 
noticed  shadows  upon  his  idol's  forehead,  and  he 
read  there  the  perfidy  of  Mademoiselle  d'Herouville 
and  judged  it  best  to  offer  himself  as  a  husband  as 
soon  as  he  could  talk  with  Modeste.  Hearing  some 
tart  but  polite  speeches  exchanged  between  Canal  is 
and  the  two  noble  ladies,  Gobenheim  jogged  his 
neighbor,  Butscha,  by  the  elbow,  motioning  toward 
the  poet  and  the  Grand  Equerry. 

"They  will  knock  each  other  to  pieces,"  he  said 
in  his  ear. 

"Canal is  has  indeed  genius  enough  to  knock  him- 
self to  pieces  by  himself  alone,"  replied  the  dwarf. 


During  the  dinner,  which  was  magnificent  and 
admirably  well-served,  the  duke  obtained  a  great 
advantage  over  Canal  is.  Modeste,  who  had  received 
her  riding-habit  the  evening  before,  spoke  of  places 
to  ride  to  in  the  neighborhood.  Through  a  turn  which 
the  conversation  took,  she  was  led  to  manifest  a 
desire  to  see  a  hunt,  a  pleasure  which  was  unknown 
to  her.  Immediately  the  duke  proposed  to  give 
Mademoiselle  Mignon  the  sight  of  a  hunt  in  one  of 
the  forests  of  the  Crown,  distant  some  leagues 
from  Havre.  Thanks  to  his  relations  with  the 
Prince  de  Cadignan,  Master  of  the  Hounds,  he  saw 
the  means  of  displaying  before  Modeste's  eyes  a 
royal  pageant,  of  captivating  her  by  showing  her 
the  fascinating  court  life  and  of  making  her  desire 
to  enter  it  through  her  marriage.  The  glances 
which  were  exchanged  between  the  duke  and  the 
two  Mesdemoisellesd'Herouville,  said  plainly,  "the 
heiress  is  ours,"  so  that  the  poet  who  detected  them, 
and  who  possessed  only  his  personal  splendors, 
hastened  to  obtain  a  pledge  of  affection.  Almost 
frightened  at  having  gone  farther  than  she  intended 
with  the  d'Herouvilles,  Modeste,  when  she  walked 
in  the  park  after  dinner,  chose  to  go  with  Melchior 
a  little  in  advance  of  the  company.  Through  a 
young  girl's  curiosity,  which  was  quite  legitimate, 
she  permitted  Canalis  to  divine  the  calumnies 
(3^5) 


316  MODESTE  MIGNON 

which  Helene  had  told  her,  and  upon  an  exclamation 
from  him,  she  asked  him  the  secret  which  he  prom- 
ised to  tell  her. 

"These  stabs  of  the  tongue,"  he  said,  "are  fair 
play  in  the  great  world.  Your  uprightness  is 
shocked  by  it, — and  I, — I  laugh  at  it  I  am  even 
happy  over  it  These  ladies  must  believe  the  in- 
terests of  his  lordship  are  in  great  danger,  to  have 
recourse  to  such  things." 

And  profiting  at  once  by  the  advantage  which  a 
communication  of  this  kind  gives,  Canal  is  used  as 
his  justification,  such  a  spirit  of  pleasantry,  and  a 
passion  so  ingenuously  expressed  in  thanking 
Modeste  for  a  confidence  in  which  he  ventured  to 
find  a  little  love,  that  she  found  herself  just  as  much 
compromised  with  the  poet  as  with  the  Grand 
Equerry.  Canal  is,  feeling  the  necessity  of  being 
bold,  declared  himself  openly.  He  made  vows  to 
Modeste  in  which  his  poetry  beamed  forth  as  the 
moon,  cleverly  invoked  for  the  occasion,  in  which 
shone  out  the  description  of  the  beauty  of  this  lovely 
blond,  who  was  charmingly  dressed  for  the  family 
fete.  This  pretended  exaltation  to  which  the 
evening,  the  foliage,  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  all 
nature,  served  as  accomplices,  carried  this  covetous 
lover  beyond  all  reason ;  for  he  spoke  of  his  disin- 
terestedness and  he  understood  by  the  charms  of  his 
style  how  to  rejuvenate  the  famous  theme  by  Di- 
derot of  "Sophie  and  fifteen  hundred  francs,"  of 
"Love  in  a  cottage,"  like  all  lovers  who  well  know 
the  father-in-law's  pocket-book. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  317 

"Monsieur,"  said  Modeste,  after  having  enjoyed 
the  melody  of  this  concerto,  so  admirably  executed, 
upon  a  well-known  theme,  "the  liberty  which  my 
parents  allow  me  has  permitted  me  to  listen  to  you; 
but  it  is  them  to  whom  you  must  address  yourself." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Canal  is,  "tell  me  that  if  I 
obtain  their  consent,  you  will  ask  nothing  better 
than  to  obey  them." 

"I  know  beforehand,"  she  replied,  "that  my 
father  has  some  fancies  which  may  annoy  the  just 
pride  of  an  old  house  like  your  own,  for  he  wishes 
to  see  his  title  and  his  name  borne  by  his  grand- 
sons." 

"Ah!  dear  Modeste,  what  sacrifices  would  not 
one  make  to  confide  his  life  to  such  a  guardian  angel 
as  yourself." 

"You  will  not  e-xpect  me  to  decide  the  fate  of  all 
my  life  in  an  instant,"  she  said  as  she  joined  the 
d'Herouville  ladies  again. 

At  this  moment,  these  two  noblewomen  were 
caressing  the  vanity  of  the  little  Latournelle  in 
order  to  use  him  for  their  interests.  Mademoiselle 
d'Herouville,  to  whom,  in  order  to  distinguish  her 
from  her  niece  Helene,  the  patrimonial  name  must 
be  given,  was  telling  the  lawyer  that  the  office  of 
the  President  of  the  Court  at  Havre,  which  Charles 
X.  would  dispose  of  as  she  desired,  was  a  retreat 
due  to  his  legal  talent  and  to  his  probity.  Butscha, 
who  walked  with  La  Briere  and  who  was  frightened 
at  the  progress  of  the  audacious  Melchior,  found 
the  opportunity  to  speak  with  Modeste  for  a  few 


318  MODESTE  MIGNON 

moments  at  the  foot  of  the  flight  of  steps,  at  the 
moment  when  the  party  were  re-entering  the  house 
to  give  themselves  up  to  the  torments  of  the  inev- 
itable whist 

"Mademoiselle,  I  hope  that  you  have  not  yet  said 
'Melchior'  to  him  ?"  he  said  to  her  in  a  low  voice. 

"Very  nearly,  my  mysterious  dwarf !"  she  replied 
with  a  smile  that  would  drive  an  angel  to  perdition. 

"Great  heavens!"  exclaimed  the  clerk  as  he  let 
his  hands  fall  and  touch  the  steps. 

"Well,  is  he  not  worth  more  than  this  hateful 
and  solemn  secretary  in  whom  you  take  such  an 
interest?"  she  continued,  assuming  towards  Ernest 
one  of  those  haughty  airs,  the  secret  of  which 
belongs  only  to  young  girls,  as  if  their  virginity 
lent  them  wings  to  fly  so  high.  "Would  your  little 
Monsieur  de  la  Briere  accept  me  without  a  dowry?" 
she  said  after  a  pause. 

"Ask  monsieur  your  father,"  replied  Butscha, 
who  took  a  few  steps  in  order  to  lead  Modeste  a  re- 
spectable distance  from  the  windows.  "Listen  to 
me,  mademoiselle.  You  know  that  he  who  is 
speaking  to  you  is  ready  to  give  you  not  only  his 
life  but  his  honor  for  all  time,  at  any  moment 
Therefore  you  may  believe  in  him,  and  you  may 
confide  in  him  what,  perhaps,  you  would  not  say  to 
your  father.  Well,  has  this  sublime Canalis  spoken 
to  you  in  a  disinterested  way,  which  makes  you 
throw  this  reproach  in  poor  Ernest's  face?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  believe  it?" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  319 

"You  bad  clerk,"  she  replied,  giving  him  one  of 
the  ten  or  twelve  nicknames  which  she  had  found 
for  him.  "That  question  has  the  appearance  of 
doubting  the  power  of  my  self-esteem." 

"You  are  laughing,  my  dear  mademoiselle;  there- 
fore there  is  nothing  serious  and  1  hope  then  that 
you  are  making  fun  of  him." 

"What  would  you  think  of  me,  Monsieur  Butscha, 
if  I  allow  myself  to  laugh  at  any  of  those  who  do 
me  the  honor  to  wish  me  for  a  wife?  Understand, 
Master  Jean,  that  even  in  appearing  to  despise  the 
most  despicable  homage,  a  young  girl  is  always  flat- 
tered by  it—" 

"Do  I  then  flatter  you?"  asked  the  clerk,  show- 
ing his  face  illumined  as  a  city  for  a  celebration. 

"You?"  she  said.  "You  show  me  the  most  pre- 
cious of  all  friendships,  a  sentiment  as  disinterested 
as  that  of  a  mother  for  a  daughter !  Do  not  compare 
yourself  to  anyone,  for  even  my  father  is  obliged  to 
devote  himself  to  me." 

She  paused. 

"I  cannot  say  that  I  love  you  in  the  sense  that 
men  give  to  that  word,  but  that  which  I  grant  you 
is  everlasting  and  will  know  no  change." 

"Well,"  said  Butscha,  who  pretended  to  pick  up 
a  pebble  in  order  to  kiss  the  tip  of  Modeste's  shoe, 
leaving  on  it  a  tear,  "let  me  then  watch  over  you 
as  a  dragon  does  over  a  treasure.  The  poet  has  just 
unfolded  before  you  the  lace-work  of  his  precious 
phrases,  the  tinsel  of  his  promises.  He  has  sung 
his  love  upon  the  string  of  his  lyre,  has  he  not? 


320  MODESTE  MIGNON 

If,  as  soon  as  this  noble  lover  should  have  the  cer- 
tainty of  your  small  fortune,  you  should  see  him 
change  his  conduct  and  become  embarrassed  and 
cold,  would  you  still  make  him  your  husband; 
would  you  always  give  him  your  esteem?" 

"Would  not  that  be  a  Francisque  Althor  ?"  she 
asked,  with  a  gesture  in  which  there  was  bitter  dis- 
gust 

"Allow  me  the  pleasure  of  producing  this  change 
of  decoration,"  said  Butscha.  "Not  only  do  I  be- 
lieve that  I  can  do  this,  but  afterwards  I  do  not  de- 
spair of  returning  your  poet  to  you,  again  in  love, 
and  of  making  him  alternately  blow  hot  and  cold 
upon  your  heart  as  graciously  as  he  sustains  the  for 
and  against  in  the  same  evening,  without  even 
finding  it  out" 

"If  you  are  right,"  she  said,  "to  whom  must  I 
trust  my  self?" 

"To  him  who  truly  loves  you." 

"To  the  little  duke?" 

Butscha  looked  at  Modeste.  They  both  took  a 
few  steps  together  in  silence.  The  young  girl  was 
inscrutable;  not  even  a  frown  betrayed  her. 

"Mademoiselle,  allow  me  to  be  the  translator  of 
the  thoughts  crouching  at  the  bottom  of  your  heart, 
like  the  sea-mosses  under  the  water,  and  which  you 
do  not  wish  to  explain  to  yourself." 

"So,  then, "said  Modeste,  "my  intimate-private- 
present-counselor  would  be  also  a  mirror?" 

"No,  but  an  echo,"  he  replied,  accompanying 
these  words  with  a  gesture  full  of  sublime  humility. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  321 

"The  duke  loves  you,  but  he  loves  you  too  much. 
If  I  have  understood  well,  I  the  dwarf,  the  infinite 
delicacy  of  your  heart,  it  would  be  repugnant  to  you 
to  be  adored  like  a  holy  sacrament  in  its  tabernacle. 
But  as  you  are  eminently  a  woman,  you  would  no 
more  desire  to  see  a  man  incessantly  at  your  feet, 
of  whom  you  would  be  eternally  sure,  than  you 
would  desire  an  egotist  likeCanalis,  who  would  pre- 
fer himself  to  you. — Why  ?  I  know  nothing  about  it 
I  will  make  myself  a  woman,  and  an  old  woman,  to 
know  the  reason  of  this  plan  which  1  have  read  in 
your  eyes,  and  which  is,  perhaps,  that  of  all  young 
girls.  Nevertheless,  you  have  in  your  great  soul  a 
yearning  for  adoration.  When  a  man  is  at  your 
knees,  you  could  not  put  yourself  at  his.  'One  cannot 
go  far  thus,'  said  Voltaire.  The  little  duke  has  too 
many  genuflections  in  his  moral  nature,  and  Ca- 
nal is  not  enough;  I  might  say  none  at  all.  There- 
fore, do  I  divine  the  maliciousness  hidden  in  your 
smiles  when  you  address  the  Grand  Equerry,  when 
he  talks  to  you,  when  you  reply  to  him.  You  could 
never  be  unhappy  with  the  duke.  All  the  world 
will  approve  if  you  choose  him  for  a  husband;  but 
you  will  not  love  him  at  all.  The  coldness  of 
egotism  and  the  excessive  warmth  of  a  continual 
ecstasy  produce  without  doubt  a  negative  in  the 
heart  of  all  women.  Evidently  it  is  not  this  per- 
petual triumph  that  will  lavish  on  you  the  infinite 
delights  of  marriage  of  which  you  dream,  where  one 
meets  with  obedience  that  makes  one  proud,  where 
one  makes  great  and  little  hidden  sacrifices  with 


322  MODESTE  MIGNON 

joy,  where  one  feels  anxieties  without  cause,  where 
one  hopes  for  success  with  madness,  where  one 
bows  with  joy  before  unexpected  greatness,  where 
one  is  understood  even  to  her  secrets,  where  some- 
times a  woman  protects  with  her  love,  her  protec- 
tor.—" 

"You  are  a  sorcerer!"  said  Modeste. 

"You  will  not  find  that  tender  equality  of  senti- 
ments, that  continual  division  of  life  and  that 
assurance  of  pleasing  which  makes  marriage  accept- 
able, in  marrying  Canalis,  a  man  who  thinks  only 
of  himself,  whose  /  is  the  sole  note,  whose  attention 
does  not  stoop  sufficiently  to  give  ear  to  your  father 
or  to  the  Grand  Equerry! — An  ambitious  man  of  the 
second  order,  to  whom  your  dignity  and  your 
obedience  would  be  of  little  importance,  who  would 
make  of  you  a  thing  necessary  in  his  house,  and 
who  insults  you  already  by  his  indifference  in  the 
matter  of  honor.  Yes,  if  you  were  to  slap  your 
mother's  face,  Canalis  would  shut  his  eyes  to  be 
able  to  deny  your  crime  to  himself,  he  is  so  greedy 
for  your  fortune.  Therefore,  mademoiselle,  I  am 
thinking  neither  of  the  great  poet,  who  is  only  a 
little  comedian,  nor  of  his  lordship,  who  could  be  for 
you  only  a  fine  marriage,  and  not  a  husband. — " 

"Butscha,  my  heart  is  a  blank  book,  where  you 
inscribe  yourself  what  you  are  reading  there,"  re- 
plied Modeste.  "You  are  carried  away  by  your 
provincial  hatred  against  everything  which  forces 
you  to  look  higher  than  your  head.  You  do  not 
pardon  the  poet  for  being  a  man  of  politics,  for 


MODESTE  MIGNON  323 

possessing  a  fine  eloquence,  for  having  a  great 
future,  and  you  slander  his  intentions." 

"He,  mademoiselle? — He  would  turn  his  back 
upon  you  at  daybreak  to-morrow,  with  the  cow- 
ardice of  a  Vilquin." 

"Oh,  make  him  play  this  comedy,  and — " 

"Indeed  I  will,  upon  every  strain,  in  three  days. 
Wednesday,  remember.  Until  then,  mademoi- 
selle, amuse  yourself  listening  to  all  the  airs  of  this 
mechanical  chanter,  so  that  the  vile  discords  of  the 
counterpart  may  show  the  better  for  it" 

Modeste  re-entered  the  drawing-room  gaily,  where 
alone  of  all  the  men,  La  Briere,  seated  in  the  win- 
dow recess,  where  without  doubt  he  had  been  look- 
ing at  his  idol,  rose  as  if  some  usher  had  cried  out 
"The  Queen!"  It  was  a  respectful  movement,  full 
of  that  quick  eloquence  appropriate  to  a  gesture, 
and  which  surpassed  that  of  the  finest  speech. 
Love  by  words  is  not  worth  so  much  as  love  by 
actions,  and  all  young  girls  of  twenty  years  should 
have  the  wisdom  of  fifty  to  understand  this  axiom. 
Therein  lies  the  most  seductive  argument  Instead 
of  looking  at  Modeste  in  her  full  face  as  did  Canal  is, 
who  greeted  her  with  public  homage,  the  disdained 
lover  followed  her  with  a  long  look  askance,  hum- 
ble, after  the  manner  of  Butscha,  almost  timorous. 
The  young  heiress  noticed  this  look  as  she  went  to 
place  herself  near  Canal  is,  in  whose  game  she  ap- 
peared to  interest  herself.  During  the  conversa- 
tion, La  Briere  learned  by  a  word  from  Modeste  to 
her  father  that  on  Wednesday  she  would  commence 


324  MODESTE  MIGNON 

her  horseback  riding;  and  she  observed  to  him  that 
she  needed  a  whip  in  keeping  with  the  magnificence 
of  her  riding-habit  The  secretary  cast  a  glance 
which  sparkled  like  fire,  at  the  dwarf,  and  some 
moments  later  they  were  both  walking  upon  the 
terrace. 

"It  is  nine  o'clock,"  said  Ernest  to  Butscha.  "I 
start  for  Paris  at  full  speed  and  I  can  be  there  to- 
morrow morning  at  ten  o'clock.  My  dear  Butscha, 
from  you  she  will  accept  a  remembrance,  for  she  is 
friendly  to  you.  Let  me  give  her  in  your  name  a 
whip  and  know  that  the  reward  of  this  immense 
kindness  will  be  that  in  me  you  will  have  not  only 
a  friend  but  devotion — " 

"Go,  you  are  indeed  fortunate,"  said  the  clerk. 
"You  have  money,  you! — " 

"Let  Canal  is  know  that  I  shall  not  return  home, 
and  that  he  must  invent  a  pretext  to  justify  my  two 
days'  absence." 

One  hour  later,  Ernest  set  out  in  the  mail-coach 
and  arrived  at  Paris  in  twelve  hours,  where  his 
first  care  was  to  retain  a  place  in  the  post-wagon 
for  Havre  for  the  following  day.  Then  he  went  to 
three  of  the  most  celebrated  jewelers  of  Paris  to 
compare  whip  handles,  seeking  the  most  royally 
beautiful  that  art  could  offer.  He  found  a  fox-hunt 
carved  in  gold  and  surmounted  by  a  ruby,  at  an 
exorbitant  price  for  the  income  of  a  secretary,  and 
which  had  been  made  by  Stidmann  for  a  Russian 
lady  who  could  not  pay  for  it  after  having  ordered 
it  All  his  savings  went  into  it,  for  it  was  a  matter 


MODESTE  MIGNON  325 

of  seven  thousand  francs.  Ernest  gave  the  design 
of  the  coat-of-arms  of  La  Bastie  instead  of  that 
which  was  already  there,  and  allowed  twenty  hours 
for  the  work.  This  carved  handle,  a  masterpiece  of 
delicacy,  was  affixed  to  a  rubber  whip  and  put  into 
a  red  morocco  case  lined  with  velvet,  upon  which 
were  marked  two  M's  interlaced.  La  Briere  arrived 
by  the  post  on  Wednesday  morning  in  time  to 
breakfast  with  Canal  is.  The  poet  had  concealed 
his  secretary's  absence,  saying  that  he  was  busy 
with  some  work  sent  from  Paris.  Butscha,  who 
was  at  the  post  to  offer  his  hand  to  the  auditor  on 
the  arrival  of  the  coach,  ran  to  carry  to  Francoise 
Cochet  this  work  of  art,  and  asked  her  to  place  it 
upon  Modeste's  toilet  table. 

"You  will  doubtless  accompany  Mademoiselle 
Modeste  upon  her  ride,"  said  the  clerk,  who  went 
to  Canal is's  house  to  announce  to  Ernest  by  a  wink 
that  the  whip  had  reached  its  destination  satisfac- 
torily. 

"1?"  asked  Ernest     "No,  I  am  going  to  bed.—" 

"Ah,  bah!"  exclaimed  Canalis,  looking  at  his 
friend.  "I  do  not  understand  you  any  longer." 

They  went  to  breakfast  and  naturally  the  poet 
asked  the  clerk  to  sit  with  them.  Butscha  re- 
mained, intending  to  have  himself  invited,  if 
necessary,  by  La  Briere.  He  had  seen  on  Ger- 
main's face  the  success  of  a  malicious  trick  which 
would  seem  to  anticipate  his  promise  to  Modeste. 

"Monsieur  would  indeed  do  well  to  keep  Monsieur 
Latournelle's  clerk,"  said  Germain  in  Canal is'sear. 


326  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Canal  is  and  Germain  went  into  the  salon,  at  a 
wink  from  the  servant  to  his  master. 

"This  morning,  monsieur,  I  went  to  see  some 
fishing,  with  a  party  proposed  yesterday  by  the 
master  of  a  bark  whose  acquaintance  I  have  made." 

Germain  did  not  acknowledge  that  he  had  had  the 
bad  taste  to  play  billiards  in  a  cafe  at  Havre  where 
Butscha  had  surrounded  him  with  his  friends  to  act 
at  will  upon  him. 

"Well  ?"said  Canalis.     "To  the  point,  quickly." 

"Monsieur  le  Baron,  I  heard  a  discussion  about 
Monsieur  Mignon  which  I  pushed  to  my  utmost,  as 
no  one  knew  to  whom  I  belonged.  Ah!  Monsieur 
le  Baron,  the  talk  of  the  world  is  that  you  have  got 
yourself  into  a  trap.  The  fortune  of  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Bastie  is  like  her  name,  very  modest.  The 
ship  upon  which  the  father  returned  is  not  his,  but 
belongs  to  the  Chinese  merchants  to  whom  he  must 
faithfully  give  an  account.  On  this  subject  some 
things  not  very  flattering  to  the  colonel's  honor  are 
said.  Having  heard  it  said  that  you  and  Monsieur 
le  Due  are  disputing  for  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie, 
I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  forewarn  you;  for  of  you 
two  it  were  better  that  it  should  be  his  lordship  to 
snap  her  up. — As  I  returned,  I  made  a  turn  on  the 
quay,  before  the  theatre  where  the  merchants  were 
walking,  among  whom  I  could  worm  myself  about 
boldly.  These  good  fellows,  seeing  a  well-dressed 
man,  began  to  talk  about  Havre;  from  one  thing  to 
another  I  led  them  upon  the  subject  of  Colonel 
Mignon,  and  they  agreed  so  well  with  the  fishermen, 


MODESTE  MIGNON  327 

that  I  should  fail  in  my  duty  were  I  silent  That 
is  the  reason  that  I  left  monsieur  to  dress  himself, 
to  rise  alone, — " 

"What  shall  I  do?"  exclaimed  Canal  is,  finding 
himself  so  engaged  as  to  be  unable  to  retract  his 
promises  to  Modeste. 

"Monsieur  knows  my  attachment, "  said  Germain, 
seeing  the  poet  look  as  if  he  were  thunderstruck, 
"and  he  will  not  be  astonished  to  see  me  give  him 
some  advice.  If  you  could  get  this  clerk  intoxi- 
cated he  would  tell  the  very  last  fact,  and  if  he 
does  not  open  his  heart  at  the  second  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne, all  will  be  well  at  the  third.  It  would  be 
strange  indeed  if  monsieur, — whom,  doubtless,  we 
shall  see  some  day  an  ambassador,  as  Philoxene  has 
heard  it  said  to  Madame  la  Duchesse, — does  not  suc- 
ceed with  a  clerk  of  Havre." 

At  this  moment,  Butscha,  the  unknown  author  of 
the  fishing  party,  asked  the  auditor  to  be  silent 
upon  the  subject  of  his  trip  to  Paris  and  not  to  med- 
dle with  his  manoeuvres  at  table. 


The  clerk  had  made  use  of  an  unfavorable  reac- 
tion against  Charles  Mignon  which  had  begun  to 
operate  in  Havre.  On  these  grounds:  The  Comte 
de  la  Bastie  had  left  in  complete  forgetfulness  some 
of  his  former  friends  who,  during  his  absence,  had 
forgotten  his  wife  and  daughters.  On  hearing  that 
he  intended  to  give  a  grand  dinner  at  the  Mignon 
villa  each  one  flattered  himself  that  he  would  be 
invited,  but  when  they  learned  that  only  Goben- 
heim,  the  Latournelles,  the  duke,  and  the  two  Paris- 
ians were  invited,  a  clamor  arose  against  the  pride 
of  the  merchant ;  his  affectation  in  not  seeing  any 
one  and  not  going  down  to  Havre,  was  observed 
and  attributed  to  a  feeling  of  contempt  for  Havre 
for  having  questioned  his  sudden  accession  to  for- 
tune. Thus  gossip  soon  went  so  far  as  to  say  that 
the  funds  necessary  to  redeem  the  property  from 
Vilquin  had  been  furnished  by  Dumay.  This 
allowed  those  most  bitter  against  him  to  say  calum- 
niously  that  Charles  had  made  over  a  great  deal 
of  his  property  to  Dumay  to  save  it  from  the  claims 
of  his  associates  in  Canton.  The  few  words  of 
Charles,  who  had  always  intended  to  conceal  his 
fortune,  the  whisperings  of  the  people  on  what  they 
heard,  gave  a  semblance  of  truth  to  these  gross 
fables,  which  each  believed  with  that  spirit  of 
slander  which  merchants  use  against  each  other. 
(329) 


330  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Just  in  the  proportion  that  half-hearted  patriotism 
toward  one  of  the  founders  of  Havre  boasted  of 
his  immense  fortune,  the  jealousy  of  the  provincials 
diminished  it.  Butscha  asked  the  fishermen,  who 
were  indebted  to  him  for  many  favors,  to  keep  the 
secret  and  use  their  tongues  in  his  service;  which 
they  did  well.  The  captain  of  the  bark  told  Ger- 
main that  one  of  his  cousins,  a  sailor,  had  come 
from  Marseilles  where  he  had  just  left  the  brig 
which  brought  the  colonel  home.  The  brig  was 
sold  in  the  name  of  Castagnould,  and  the  cargo, 
according  to  his  cousin's  statement,  was  not  worth 
more  than  three  or  four  hundred  thousand  francs. 

"Germain,"  said  Canalis,  just  as  the  valet  was 
leaving  the  room,  "serve  us  champagne  and  Bor- 
deaux. A  member  of  the  bar  of  Normandy  must 
have  a  souvenir  of  a  poet's  hospitality — Besides,  he 
has  the  wit  of  Figaro,"  said  Canalis,  leaning  on  the 
dwarf's  shoulder,  "and  this  wit  must  be  sharpened 
and  brightened  with  champagne.  You  and  I  will 
not  spare  the  wine — neither  will  Ernest.  My  faith, 
it  has  been  well-nigh  two  years  since  I  was  drunk," 
he  added,  looking  at  La  Briere. 

"With  wine?  I  can  believe  that,"  said  the  clerk. 
"You  must  get  drunk  every  day  with  yourself. 
You  quaff  direct  the  cup  of  praise.  Ah!  you  are 
handsome,  you  are  a  poet,  you  are  famous  in  your 
lifetime,  you  have  the  power  of  conversation  as 
great  as  your  genius,  and  you  please  all  women, 
even  my  master's  wife.  Beloved  by  the  most 
beautiful  Sultana  Valide  that  I  ever  saw — I  never 


MODESTE  MIGNON  331 

saw  but  her— you  can  if  you  wish  wed  Mademoi- 
selle de  la  Bastie. — See  here,  only  to  enumerate 
your  present  advantages,  to  say  nothing  of  the  future 
—a  title,  peerage,  embassy!— is  enough  to  intoxi- 
cate me,  like  men  who  bottle  other  men's  wine." 

"All  these  social  distinctions,"  said  Canalis, 
"count  for  little  without  the  one  thing  needful — for- 
tune. We  are  all  men  here  and  can  talk  freely. 
Fine  sentiments  do  very  well  in  verse." 

"And  depend  upon  circumstances,"  said  the  clerk 
with  a  significant  gesture. 

"But,  you  maker  of  contracts,"  said  the  poet, 
smiling  at  the  interruption,  "you  know  as  well  as  I 
do,  that  cottage  rhymes  with  pottage." 

At  table,  Butscha  played  the  r61e  of  Rigaudin  in 
the  Maison  en  loterie  in  a  way  which  almost  fright- 
ened Ernest,  as  he  did  not  know  the  frolics  of  an 
office,  which  are  equal  to  those  of  the  studio.  The 
clerk  recounted  the  scandalous  stories  of  Havre,  the 
gossip  about  fortunes,  those  of  the  boudoir  and  the 
crimes  committed  code  in  hand  which  are  called  in 
Normandy  "getting  out  of  a  tight  place  as  best  you 
can."  He  spared  no  one,  and  his  spirits  increased 
as  he  poured  down  his  throat  torrents  of  wine,  like 
rain  down  a  gutter. 

"Do  you  know,  La  Briere,  that  this  brave  fellow 
would  make  a  famous  secretary  to  the  embassy?" 
said  Canalis. 

"And  push  out  his  chief,"  cried  the  dwarf,  throw- 
ing Canalis  a  glance,  the  insolence  of  which  was 
drowned  in  the  fizzing  of  carbonic  acid  gas.  "I 


332  MODESTE  MIGNON 

have  little  enough  gratitude  and  plenty  of  intrigue 
to  mount  by  your  shoulders.  A  poet  carrying  a 
hunchback ! — that  has  been  seen  before  to-day  and 
very  often,  too — on  the  bookshelves.  Come,  you 
look  at  me  as  a  sword  swal lower.  Ah!  my  dear 
great  genius,  you  are  a  superior  man,  you  know 
very  well  that  gratitude  is  a  silly  word,  which  is 
put  in  the  dictionary,  but  is  not  in  the  human  heart 
Gratitude  is  worth  nothing  except  on  a  certain 
mount  which  is  neither  Pindus  nor  Parnassus.  Do 
you  think  I  owe  anything  to  my  master's  wife  who 
brought  me  up?  Of  course  not;  the  whole  village 
has  evened  that  account  in  esteem,  praise,  and 
admiration — the  best  of  coin.  I  do  not  acknowledge 
any  good  which  is  only  the  reward  of  self-love. 
Men  make  a  commerce  of  their  favors,  the  word 
gratitude  indicates  a  debit  balance — that  is  all.  As 
to  schemes,  they  are  my  divinity. — What!"  he  said 
in  answer  to  a  gesture  of  Canal  is,  "do  you  not  ad- 
mire the  faculty  which  enables  a  politic  man  to  get 
ahead  of  a  man  of  genius ;  when  it  demands  the  con- 
stant observation  of  his  vices,  the  weaknesses  of 
his  superiors  and  the  knowledge  of  the  propitious 
moment  to  act?  Ask  the  diplomat  if  his  greatest 
successes  are  not  the  triumph  of  skill  over  force  ?  If 
I  were  your  secretary,  Monsieur  le  Baron,  you 
would  soon  be  prime  minister  because  it  would  be 
to  my  interest  for  you  to  be.  See!  would  you  like 
a  proof  of  my  little  talents  of  this  kind?  Listen! 
you  love  desperately  Mademoiselle  Modeste  and  you 
are  right  That  child  has  my  fullest  esteem,  she  is 


MODESTE  MIGNON  333 

a  true  Parisian.  Sometimes,  here  and  there,  you 
find  Parisians  in  the  provinces.  Our  Modeste  is 
just  the  woman  to  push  a  man  along — she  has  it  in 
her,"  he  said  with  a  turn  of  his  finger  in  the  air. 
"You  have  a  dangerous  rival  in  the  duke:  what 
will  you  give  me  to  make  him  leave  Havre  in  three 
days?" 

"Let  us  finish  the  bottle,"  said  the  poet,  filling 
up  Butscha's  glass. 

"You  are  going  to  make  me  drunk!"  said  the 
clerk,  gulping  down  his  ninth  glass  of  champagne. 
"Have  you  a  bed  where  I  could  get  an  hour's  sleep? 
My  master  is  as  sober  as  the  camel  that  he  is,  and 
Madame  Latournelle  also.  One  or  the  other  of 
them  would  scold  me,  and  rightly,  too,  if  I  take  more 
— I  have  some  deeds  to  draw." 

Then,  taking  up  his  previous  ideas  after  the 
fashion  of  a  drunken  man,  he  exclaimed: 

"And  such  a  memory!  it  is  equal  to  my  grati- 
tude." 

"Butscha,"  cried  the  poet,  "just  now  you  said 
that  you  had  no  gratitude,  now  you  contradict 
yourself." 

"Not  at  all,"  replied  the  clerk.  "To  forget  is 
almost  always  to  remember!  Come  now!  I  am 
just  cut  out  for  a  famous  secretary— 

"What  means  would  you  take  to  get  rid  of  the 
duke?"  asked  Canal  is,  charmed  to  have  the  con- 
versation take  this  turn. 

"That— that  does  not  concern  you!"  said  the 
dwarf,  pretending  to  hiccough. 


334  MODESTE  M1GNON 

Butscha  rolled  his  head  on  his  shoulders  and 
turned  his  eyes  from  Germain  to  La  Briere,  from  La 
Briere  to  Canal  is,  after  the  manner  of  a  man  who 
begins  to  feel  himself  intoxicated  and  wishes  to 
know  if  others  have  observed  it;  for,  in  the  ship- 
wreck of  drunkenness  it  is  noticeable  that  self-love 
is  the  only  sentiment  which  floats. 

"I  say!  my  great  poet,  you  are  not  a  bad  joker 
yourself!  You  take  me,  then,  for  one  of  your 
readers,  you  who  sent  your  friend  to  Paris  post 
haste  to  inquire  into  the  fortune  of  the  Mignons — 
I  trick,  thou  trickest,  we  trick — Good !  But  do  me 
the  honor  to  believe  that  I  am  smart  enough  to 
always  appear  to  have  the  necessary  amount  of 
conscience  in  its  place.  In  my  vocation  of  head 
clerk  to  master  Latournelle  my  heart  is  a  box,  pad- 
locked!— My  mouth  never  lets  out  anything  about  a 
client.  I  know  everything  and  I  know  nothing. 
Besides,  my  passion  is  well  known.  I  love  Mo- 
deste,  she  is  my  scholar,  and  she  must  make  a  fine 
marriage. — And  I  will  send  away  the  duke  if  need 
be  and  you  can  marry — " 

"Germain,  coffee  and  liqueurs! — "  said  Canal  is. 

"Liqueurs?"  repeated  Butscha,  raising  his  hand 
like  a  pretended  virgin  who  resists  a  seduction.  "Ah ! 
my  poor  deeds! — there  was  a  marriage-contract 
among  them.  There!  my  second  clerk  is  as  stupid 
as  a  matrimonial  provision  and  is  capable  of  p — p — 
putting  his  penknife  through  the  clause  as  to  the 
bride's  paraphernalia.  He  thinks  he  is  a  handsome 
man  because  he  is  five  feet  six — the  idiot!" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  335 

"Here  is  some  crime  de  the,  a  1  iqueur  of  the  Indies, " 
said  Canalis.  "You,  whom  Mademoiselle  Modeste 
consults — " 

"She  consults  me — " 

"Well,  do  you  think  that  she  loves  me?"  asked 
the  poet. 

"More  than  she  loves  the  duke,"  replied  the 
dwarf,  arousing  himself  from  a  sort  of  stupor  which 
he  acted  wonderfully  well.  "She  loves  you  on  ac- 
count of  your  disinterestedness.  She  told  me,  in 
speaking  of  you,  that  she  was  prepared  to  make  the 
greatest  sacrifices,  to  economize  in  dress,  and  not  to 
spend  more  than  a  thousand  crowns  a  year,  and  to 
employ  her  life  in  proving  to  you  that  you  had  done 
well  to  marry  her.  She  is  devilishly  good — hic- 
cough— bless  you!  and  well-informed,  she  knows 
everything, — that  girl  does." 

"And  she  has  three  hundred  thousand  francs," 
said  Canalis. 

"Oh!  it  is  perhaps  as  much  as  that,"  replied  the 
enthusiastic  clerk.  "Papa  Mignon, — you  see  he  is 
mignon  as  father  as  well  as  in  name — that  is  why  I 
like  him, — he  would  give  up  anything  to  marry  his 
only  daughter  well. — The  colonel  is  accustomed 
since  your  Restoration  (hiccough)  to  live  on  half 
pay,  and  he  would  be  content  to  live  with  Dumay 
on  little  or  nothing  in  Havre  if  he  could  get  together 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  for  the  little  one.— 
But  do  not  let  us  forget  that  Dumay's  fortune  is 
destined  for  Modeste.  Dumay,  you  know,  is  a 
Breton,  and  his  very  origin  guarantees  a  fulfilment 


336  MODESTE  MIGNON 

of  his  undertaking,  he  never  retracts  his  word  and 
his  fortune  equals  that  of  the  colonel.  Neverthe- 
less, as  they  take  my  advice  as  much  as  you, 
although  I  do  not  talk  so  much  or  so  well,  I  told 
them  'You  sink  too  much  in  that  house;  if  Vilquin 
goes  back  on  you  there  are  two  hundred  thousand 
francs  which  bring  you  in  nothing.  Then  there 
are  only  one  hundred  thousand  francs  left  to  get 
along  on  and  that  is  not  enough,  take  my  word  for 
it'  Then  the  colonel  and  Dumay  consulted  to- 
gether. Believe  me,  though,  Modeste  is  rich.  The 
people  on  the  quay  talk  a  lot  of  nonsense,  but  they 
are  jealous.  Who  else  in  the  department  has  such 
a  dot?"  said  Butscha,  counting  on  his  fingers. 
"Two  or  three  hundred  thousand  francs  in  ready 
money,"  said  he  bending  back  the  thumb  of  his  left 
hand  with  the  first  finger  of  his  right,  "that  is  one! 
The  property  of  the  Mignon  villa,"  touching  the 
second  finger — "Tertio,  the  Dumay  fortune!"  he 
added,  doubling  down  the  third  finger.  "Ah!  little 
mother,  Modeste  will  have  her  six  hundred  thousand 
francs  when  the  two  soldiers  get  their  marching 
orders  from  the  Eternal  Father." 

This  naive  and  coarse  confidence  intermingled 
with  glasses  of  liqueurs,  sobered  Canal  is  as  much  as 
it  seemed  to  intoxicate  Butscha.  For  the  clerk,  a 
young  countryman,  this  fortune  was  evidently 
colossal.  His  head  fell  into  the  palm  of  his  right 
hand  and  with  his  elbows  placed  majestically  on 
the  table  he  blinked  his  eyes  and  went  on  talking 
to  himself. 


MODESTE  MIGNON 


337 


"In  twenty  years  to  come,  according  to  that  Code 
which  piles  up  the  fortunes  under  the  title  of  '  Suc- 
cessions/ an  heiress  of  six  hundred  thousand  francs 
will  be  as  rare  as  disinterestedness  is  among 
usurers.  You  will  say  that  Modeste  can  well  spend 
twelve  thousand  francs  a  year,  the  interest  on  her 
dot,  well  she  is  so  sweet — so  sweet — so  sweet — She 
is,  do  you  see — to  a  poet  metaphors  are  necessary — 
she  is  a  weasel,  as  mischievous  as  a  monkey." 

"Why  did  you  tell  me,  then,  that  she  had  six 
millions?"  cried  Canalis  in  a  low  tone,  glancing  at 
La  Briere. 

"My  friend,"  said  Ernest,  "I  ought  not  to  say 
anything,  I  am  bound  by  an  oath,  and  perhaps,  I 
ought  not  to  say  even  that — " 

"An  oath  to  whom — ?" 

"To  Monsieur  Mignon," 

"How  is  this,  Ernest?  You  who  know  how 
necessary  fortune  is  to  me." 

Butscha  snored. 

"You  who  know  my  position,  who  know  all  that 
I  shall  lose  in  the  Rue  de  Crenelle  by  this  attempt 
to  marry,  you  could  coolly  let  me  ruin  myself — " 
said  Canalis  turning  pale.  "This  was  an  affair  of 
friendship,  my  dear  fellow;  a  compact  entered  into 
long  before  this  one  which  the  crafty  Provencal 
Mignon  asked  of  you." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Ernest,  "I  love  Modeste 
too  much  to — " 

"Fool!  then  take  her,"  cried  the  poet  "Break 
your  oath — " 


338  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"You  swear  to  me  on  your  word  of  honor  to  forget 
what  I  am  going  to  tell  you  and  to  act  toward  me, 
whatever  happens,  as  if  this  confidence  had  never 
been  made?" 

"I  swear  it  by  the  memory  of  my  mother." 

"Well  then,"  said  La  Briere,  "Monsieur  Mignon 
told  me  at  Paris  that  he  was  far  from  having  the 
colossal  fortune  of  which  the  Mongenods  spoke  to 
me.  The  colonel's  intention  is  to  give  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  to  his  daughter.  Now,  Melchior, 
was  the  father  distrustful  ?  was  he  sincere  ?  That 
question  is  not  for  me  to  answer.  If  she  deigns  to 
choose  me,  Modeste  will  be  my  wife  even  if  she  has 
no  dot" 

"A  blue  stocking!  educated  enough  to  ruin  her,  a 
girl  who  has  read  everything,  who  knows  every- 
thing— in  theory  that  is,"  exclaimed  Canalis  at  a 
gesture  of  La  Briere,  "a  spoiled  child  raised  in  the 
lap  of  luxury  and  then  deprived  of  it  for  five  years! 
— Ah!  my  poor  friend,  think  well  of  it — " 

"Ode  and  code!"  said  Butscha  waking  up,  "you 
make  odes,  I  make  codes,  and  there  is  only  the  dif- 
ference of  a  C  between  us.  Now,  code  comes  from 
coda,  a  tail !  You  have  refreshed  me  and  I  love  you 
— do  not  go  to  making  codes.  Here,  I  will  give  you 
a  piece  of  good  advice  for  your  wine  and  your  creme 
de  the.  Father  Mignon  is  cream  too — the  cream  of 
honest  men.  All  right,  get  on  your  horse,  he  is 
going  to  accompany  his  daughter  and  you  can  talk 
frankly  to  him  of  the  dot,  he  will  reply  candidly 
and  you  will  get  at  the  truth  of  the  matter  as  true 


MODESTE  MIGNON  339 

as  I  am  drunk  and  you  are  a  great  man,  but  any- 
way, we  are  going  to  leave  Havre  together,  are  we 
not?  I  will  be  your  secretary,  as  this  little  fellow 
who  thinks  that  I  am  drunk  and  is  laughing  at  me, 
will  leave  you.  Come,  let's  go!  and  leave  him  to 
marry  the  girl." 

Canal  is  got  up  to  go  and  dress  himself. 

"Hush!  not  a  word!  he  is  hastening  to  commit 
suicide,"  said  Butscha  soberly  to  La  Briere,  and  as 
cool  as  Gobenheim,  he  made  a  gesture  to  Canal  is 
familiar  to  the  Paris  gamins.  "Adieu!  my  grand 
master,"  cried  the  clerk  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
"will  you  allow  me  to  sleep  off  the  fumes  in  that 
kiosk  of  Madame  Amaury?" 

"Make  yourself  at  home,"  replied  the  poet. 

Butscha  gained  the  kiosk,  much  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  three  of  Canal  is's  servants  as  he  walked 
over  the  flower-beds  and  around  the  vases  of  flowers 
with  the  curious  grace  of  an  insect  which  describes 
its  interminable  zigzags,  in  trying  to  go  out  of  a 
closed  window.  When  he  had  shut  himself  in  the 
kiosk  and  the  servants  had  gone  into  the  house,  he 
sat  down  on  a  painted  wooden  bench  and  abandoned 
himself  to  the  delights  of  his  triumph.  He  had  just 
fooled  a  great  man,  he  had  not  only  torn  away  his 
mask,  but  he  had  seen  him  untie  the  knots  and  he 
laughed  as  an  author  over  his  own  piece,  that  is  to 
say,  with  a  sense  of  the  immense  value  of  his  vis 
comica. 

"Men  are  like  tops,"  he  cried,  "you  have  only 
to  find  the  string  to  wind  them  with.  Should 


340  MODESTE  MIGNON 

I  not  faint  away  if  any  one  came  to  me  saying: 
'Mademoiselle  Modeste  has  just  fallen  from  her 
horse  and  broken  her  leg!'  " 

Some  moments  later,  Modeste,  dressed  in  a  beau- 
tiful riding-habit  of  bottle-green  cashmere,  with  a 
small  green  hat  and  veil,  buckskin  gloves  and  vel- 
vet boots,  upon  which  fluttered  the  lace  of  her  un- 
dergarments, and  mounted  on  a  richly-caparisoned 
pony,  showed  to  her  father  and  the  Due  d'Herou- 
ville  the  pretty  present  which  she  had  received; 
she  was  delighted  with  it,  as  it  was  one  of  those 
attentions  which  flatter  women  highly. 

"Is  this  from  you,  Monsieur  le  Due?"  she  said, 
extending  to  him  the  sparkling  end  of  the  whip.  A 
card  was  with  it  which  read  "Guess  if  you  can," 
and  interrogation  points.  "Francoise  and  Madame 
Dumay  attribute  this  charming  surprise  to  Butscha, 
but  my  dear  Butscha  is  not  rich  enough  to  pay  for 
such  beautiful  rubies!  But  my  father,  to  whom  I 
remember  saying  Sunday  evening  that  I  had  no 
whip,  has  sent  to  Rouen  for  this  one  for  me." 

Modeste  pointed  to  a  whip  in  her  father's  hand, 
the  end  of  which  was  studded  with  turquoises,  then 
the  fashion  but  since  become  very  common. 

"I  would  give  ten  years  of  my  old  age,  mademoi- 
selle, to  have  the  right  to  offer  you  this  magnificent 
jewel,"  replied  the  duke,  courteously. 

"Ah!  here  is  the  audacious  man!"  exclaimed 
Modeste,  as  she  saw  Canal  is  approaching  on  horse- 
back. "It  is  only  a  poet  who  knows  how  to  find 
such  pretty  things — Monsieur,"  she  said  to 


MODESTE  MIGNON  341 

Melchior,  "my  father  will  scold  you,  and  you  give 
justification  to  those  who  reproach  you  here  with 
extravagance." 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Canal  is,  artlessly,  "that,  then, 
is  why  La  Briere  went  from  Havre  to  Paris  at  full 
speed!" 

"Your  secretary  has  taken  such  liberties?"  said 
Modeste  growing  pale  and  throwing  her  whip  to 
Francoise  Cochet  with  a  gesture  in  which  could  be 
read  profound  contempt  "Return  this  whip, 
father,  for  me." 

"Poor  fellow,  he  is  lying  on  his  bed  half-dead 
from  fatigue!"  replied  Melchior  as  he  followed  the 
young  girl  who  had  dashed  off  at  a  gallop.  "You 
are  hard,  mademoiselle.  'I,'  he  said  to  me,  'have 
only  this  chance  to  recall  myself  to  her  memory.' ' 

"And  would  you  esteem  a  woman  who  was  capa- 
ble of  keeping  remembrances  from  half  the 
parish?"  asked  Modeste. 

Modeste,  surprised  at  not  receiving  any  reply  from 
Canal  is,  attributed  this  inattention  to  the  noise  of 
the  horses'  feet 

"How  you  delight  to  torment  those  who  love 
you!"  said  the  duke  to  her.  "This  nobleness  and 
pride  contradict  so  well  your  faults,  that  I  begin  to 
suspect  you  slander  yourself  in  premeditating  your 
naughtiness." 

"Ah!  you  have  just  found  it  out,  Monsieur  le 
Due,"  she  said  with  a  laugh.  "You  have  the 
clear-sightedness  of  a  husband!" 

They    went    almost    a    kilometer     in    silence. 


342  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Modeste  was  astonished  not  to  receive  the  burning 
glances  of  Canal  is,  who  appeared  a  little  too  much 
taken  with  the  beauties  of  the  landscape  for  this 
admiration  to  be  natural.  The  evening  before, 
Modeste  pointing  out  to  the  poet  an  admirable  effect 
of  the  sunset  on  the  sea,  had  said  to  him  upon  find- 
ing him  as  stupefied  as  a  deaf  person : 

"Well,  do  you  not  see  it?" 

"I  see  only  your  hand,"  he  had  replied. 

"Does  Monsieur  la  Briere  know  how  to  ride?" 
asked  Modeste  of  Canal  is  to  tease  him. 

"Not  very  well,  but  he  rides,"  replied  the  poet, 
who  had  become  as  cold  as  Gobenheim  before  the 
colonel's  return. 

Along  the  route  of  a  cross-road  which  Monsieur 
Mignontookto  go  by  a  pretty  valley  to  a  hill  which 
crowned  the  course  of  the  Seine,  Canal  is  allowed 
Modeste  and  the  duke  to  pass,  restraining  his  horse's 
pace  in  a  way  to  be  able  to  keep  company  with  the 
colonel. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte,  you  are  a  straightforward 
military  man,  so  no  doubt  you  will  see  a  claim  to 
your  esteem  in  my  frankness.  When  propositions 
of  marriage,  with  all  their  savage, — or  if  you  will, — 
too  civilized  discussions,  pass  through  the  mouth  of 
a  third  party,  everyone  loses  by  it.  We  are  both 
of  us  gentlemen,  one  as  discreet  as  the  other,  and 
you  have,  like  myself,  overcome  the  age  of  sur- 
prises; therefore,  let  us  speak  as  good  comrades.  I 
will  give  you  the  example.  I  am  twenty-nine 
years  old,  I  am  without  landed  fortune,  and  I  am 


MODESTE  MIGNON  343 

ambitious.  Mademoiselle  Modeste  pleases  me  ex- 
ceedingly, you  must  have  noticed  it  Now,  not- 
withstanding the  faults  which  your  dear  child  gives 
herself  at  pleasure — " 

"Without  counting  those  which  she  has,"  said 
the  colonel  smiling. 

"I  would  very  gladly  make  her  my  wife,  and  I 
believe  I  could  make  her  happy.  The  question  of 
fortune  is  of  all  importance  to  my  future,  which  is 
to-day  being  agitated.  But,  in  spite  of  everything, 
all  young  girls  in  marrying  expect  to  be  loved. 
Nevertheless,  you  are  not  the  man  to  wish  to  marry 
your  dear  Modeste  without  a  dowry,  and  my  situa- 
tion would  no  more  permit  me  to  make  a  so-called 
marriage  of  love  than  to  take  a  wife  who  would  not 
bring  a  fortune  at  least  equal  to  my  own.  I  have 
salaries  from  my  sinecures,  the  Academy,  and  the 
receipts  from  my  publishers,  about  thirty  thousand 
francs  a  year,  an  enormous  fortune  for  a  bachelor. 
If  my  wife  and  I,  together,  have  sixty  thousand 
francs  income,  I  should  be  in  the  same  condition  of 
life  as  I  am  now.  Shall  you  give  a  million  to  Ma- 
demoiselle Modeste?" 

"Ah!  monsieur,  you  are  very  far  from  the 
amount,"  said  the  colonel,  jesuitically. 

"Let  us  suppose  then,"  replied  Canal  is  eagerly, 
"that  instead  of  talking,  we  have  whistled.  You 
will  be  satisfied  with  my  behavior,  Monsieur  le 
Comte;  I  shall  be  included  among  those  unfortunate 
beings  whom  this  charming  girl  has  refused.  Give 
me  your  word  to  keep  silence  to  everyone,  even  to 


344  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Mademoiselle  Modeste,  for,"  he  added  as  a  bit  of 
consolation,  "such  a  change  in  my  position  might 
take  place  that  it  would  allow  me  to  ask  her  of  you 
without  dowry." 

"I  promise  you,"  said  the  colonel.  "You  know, 
monsieur,  with  what  bombast  the  provincial  public, 
like  that  of  Paris,  talks  of  the  fortunes  which  are 
made  and  unmade.  Happiness  and  misfortune  are 
equally  magnified;  we  are  never  as  unhappy  nor  as 
happy  as  we  are  thought  to  be.  In  commerce,  there 
is  no  security  except  the  capital  placed  in  landed 
property,  after  all  bills  are  paid.  I  await  with 
great  impatience  the  reports  of  my  agents.  The 
sale  of  my  merchandise  and  of  my  vessel,  and  the 
settling  of  my  accounts  in  China; — nothing  is 
finished.  I  shall  not  know  my  fortune  for  ten 
months.  Nevertheless,  at  Paris  I  guaranteed  two 
hundred  thousand  francs  dowry  to  Monsieur  de  la 
Briere  and  in  ready  cash.  I  wish  to  establish  an 
entailed  estate  and  assure  the  future  of  my  grand- 
children in  obtaining  for  them  the  transmission  of 
my  arms  and  titles." 

Canal  is  had  not  listened  to  this  reply  after  the 
opening  sentence.  The  four  riders,  finding  them- 
selves in  a  road  broad  enough,  rode  abreast  and 
gained  the  plateau  from  whence  the  eye  overlooked 
the  rich  basin  of  the  Seine,  toward  Rouen,  while  on 
the  other  horizon  the  sea  could  still  be  seen. 

"Butscha  was  right,  I  believe.  God  is  a  great 
landscape  painter,"  said  Canalis,  as  he  contem- 
plated this  point  of  view,  unique  among  those  which 


MODESTE  MIGNON 


345 


make    the    borders  of   the  Seine  so  justly  cele- 
brated. 

"It  is  especially  true  at  the  hunt,  my  dear 
baron,"  replied  the  duke,  "when  Nature  is  animated 
by  a  voice,  by  a  tumult  in  the  silence,  that  the 
landscapes  seen  rapidly  then,  appear  truly  sublime 
in  their  changing  effects." 

"The  sun  is  an  inexhaustible  palette," said  Mo- 
deste,  looking  at  the  poet  in  a  kind  of  stupefaction. 

At  a  remark  from  Modeste  upon  Canal  is's  absent- 
mindedness,  he  replied  that  he  was  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts,  an  excuse  that  authors  give  oftener 
than  other  men. 

"Are  we,  then,  very  happy  in  transporting  our 
life  to  the  heart  of  the  world,  in  aggrandizing  there 
our  thousand  superficial  needs  and  our  over-excited 
vanities?"  said  Modeste,  at  the  aspect  of  this  quiet 
and  rich  country  which  counseled  a  philosophical 
tranquillity  of  existence. 

"This  bucolic,  mademoiselle,  is  always  written 
upon  golden  tables,"  said  the  poet 

"And  perhaps  conceived  in  attics,"  replied  the 
colonel. 

After  having  cast  a  searching  glance  on  Canal  is 
which  he  could  not  endure,  Modeste  heard  the 
sound  of  bells;  she  looked  solemnly  before  her  and 
exclaimed  in  an  icy  tone: 

"Ah!  to-day  is  Wednesday!" 

"It  is  not  to  flatter  the  passing  caprice  of  made- 
moiselle," said  the  Due  d'Herouville,  solemnly,  to 
whom  this  scene,  so  tragic  for  Modeste,  had  allowed 


346  MODESTE  MIGNON 

time  to  think,  "but  I  declare  that  I  am  so  pro- 
foundly disgusted  with  society,  with  the  Court  and 
with  Paris,  that  with  a  Duchesse  d'Herouville 
gifted  with  the  graces  and  the  mind  of  mademoi- 
selle, I  would  promise  to  live  as  a  philosopher  in 
my  chateau,  doing  good  around  me,  draining  my 
deltas  and  educating  my  children, — " 

"That,  Monsieur  le  Due,  shall  be  placed  to  your 
account,"  replied  Modeste,  as  she  rested  her  eyes 
for  a  long  time  on  this  noble  gentleman.  "You 
flatter  me,"  she  continued,  "you  do  not  think  me 
frivolous,  and  you  give  me  credit  for  resources 
enough  in  myself  to  live  in  solitude.  Perhaps  that 
is  to  be  my  fate,"  she  added,  looking  at  Canal  is 
with  an  expression  of  pity. 

"It  is  that  of  all  mediocre  fortunes,"  replied  the 
poet.  "Paris  exacts  a  Babylonian  luxury.  At 
times  I  ask  myself  how  I  have  had  enough  to  get 
along  there  until  now." 

"The  king  can  reply  for  us  both,"  said  the 
duke  candidly,  "for  we  live  on  his  Majesty's 
bounty.  If  we  had  not  been  allowed  since  the  fall 
of  Monsieur  le  Grand,  who  is  called  Cinq-Mars, 
to  keep  his  office  in  our  family,  we  should  have 
been  obliged  to  sell  Herouville  at  auction.  Ah! 
believe  me,  mademoiselle,  it  is  a  great  humiliation 
for  me  to  mix  these  financial  questions  with  my 
marriage — " 

The  simplicity  of  this  avowal  coming  from  the 
heart,  and  in  which  the  sorrow  was  sincere,  touched 
Modeste. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  347 

"To-day,"  said  the  poet,  "no  one  in  France, 
Monsieur  le  Due,  is  rich  enough  to  be  so  mad  as  to 
marry  a  wife  for  her  personal  worth,  for  her  graces, 
for  her  character,  or  for  her  beauty — " 

The  colonel  looked  at  Canal  is  in  a  singular  way, 
after  having  examined  Modeste,  whose  face  no 
longer  showed  any  astonishment 

"For  people  of  honor,"  then  said  the  colonel,  "it 
is  a  good  employment  for  their  wealth  to  destine  it 
to  repair  the  ravages  of  time  in  the  old  historical 
families." 

"Yes,  papa,"  replied  the  young  girl  gravely. 

The  colonel  invited  the  duke  and  Canalis  to  dine 
with  him,  without  ceremony,  in  their  riding  cos- 
tumes, he,  himself,  giving  them  the  example  of  a 
neglige  costume. 

When,  upon  her  return,  Modeste  went  to  change 
her  dress,  she  regarded  with  curiosity  the  jewel 
which  had  been  brought  from  Paris  and  which  she 
had  so  cruelly  disdained. 

"How  beautifully  work  is  done  now!"  she  said 
to  Francoise  Cochet,  who  had  become  her  maid. 

"And  this  poor  fellow,  mademoiselle,  who  has  a 
fever — " 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

"Monsieur  Butscha.  He  came  to  beg  me  to  make 
you  notice,  what  you  have  no  doubt  already  ob- 
served, that  he  has  kept  his  word  with  you  on  the 
promised  day." 

Modeste  descended  to  the  salon  in  a  dress  of  royal 
simplicity. 


348  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"My  dear  father,"  she  said  in  an  audible  voice, 
as  she  took  the  colonel  by  the  arm,  "go  and  enquire 
about  Monsieur  de  la  Briere,  and  take  him,  I  beg 
you,  his  gift.  You  may  allege  that  my  small  for- 
tune, as  well  as  my  tastes,  prevent  me  from  carry- 
ing trifles  which  belong  only  to  queens  or  courtesans. 
Besides,  I  can  only  accept  gifts  from  a  fiance.  Beg 
this  fine  fellow  to  keep  the  whip  until  you  know  if 
you  are  rich  enough  to  purchase  it  of  him." 

"My  little  girl  is  full  of  good  sense,"  said  the 
colonel  as  he  kissed  Modeste's  forehead. 

Canal  is  took  advantage  of  a  conversation  between 
the  duke  and  Madame  Mignon,  to  go  on  the  terrace, 
where  Modeste  joined  him  drawn  by  curiosity, 
while  he  believed  her  led  there  by  the  desire  to  be 
Madame  Canal  is.  Frightened  by  the  imprudence 
with  which  he  had  just  accomplished  what  military 
men  call  a  wheel  of  the  quarter  circle,  and  which, 
according  to  the  law  of  the  ambitious,  all  men  in 
his  position  would  have  made  quite  as  abruptly,  he 
sought  for  plausible  reasons  to  give  upon  seeing  the 
unfortunate  Modeste  approach. 

"Dear  Modeste,"  he  said  to  her,  assuming  a 
wheedling  tone,  "will  you  be  displeased  upon  the 
conditions  in  which  we  now  stand,  if  I  tell  you  how 
painful  your  replies  to  the  remarks  of  Monsieur 
d'Herouville  are  to  a  man  who  loves,  but  especially 
to  a  poet  whose  soul  is  like  a  woman's,  nervous  and 
full  of  the  thousand  jealousies  of  true  passion?  I 
should  indeed  be  a  poor  diplomat  if  I  had  not  di- 
vined that  your  first  coquetries  and  your  calculated 


MODESTE  MIGNON  349 

inconsistencies  had  for  their  reason,  the  study  of 
our  characters—" 

Modeste  raised  her  head  with  an  intelligent  move- 
ment, quick  and  coquettish,  the  type  of  which  is 
perhaps  only  in  animals  with  whom  mistrust  pro- 
duces miracles  of  grace. 

"Therefore  when  I  returned  home,  I  was  no 
longer  its  dupe.  I  marveled  at  your  delicacy,  in 
harmony  with  your  character  and  face.  Be  assured 
I  have  never  supposed  but  that  so  much  artificial 
duplicity  was  the  covering  of  an  adorable  candor. 
No,  your  mind,  your  education,  nothing  has  stolen 
that  precious  innocence  that  we  ask  in  a  wife.  You 
are  indeed  the  wife  for  a  poet,  a  diplomat,  a  thinker ; 
for  a  man  destined  to  know  doubtful  situations  in 
life,  and  I  admire  you  as  much  as  I  feel  attachment 
for  you.  I  beg  you,  if  you  were  not  playing  a 
comedy  with  me  yesterday,  when  you  accepted  the 
faith  of  a  man  whose  vanity  will  be  changed  into 
pride  at  seeing  himself  chosen  by  you,  whose  faults 
will  become  good  qualities  in  the  heavenly  contact 
with  you,  do  not  wound  these  sentiments  in  him 
which  amount  almost  to  a  sin — 

"In  my  soul,  jealousy  is  a  solvent,  and  you  have 
revealed  to  me  all  its  power.  It  is  fearful;  it  de- 
stroys everything  there.  Oh !  it  is  not  a  question 
of  the  jealousy  of  Othello,"  he  continued  at  a  ges- 
ture from  Modeste.  "No!  No! — It  concerns  my- 
self! I  am  spoiled  upon  this  point.  You  know  the 
one  affection  to  which  I  am  indebted  for  the  only 
happiness  that  I  have  enjoyed,  incomplete,  indeed,  as 


350  MODESTE  MIGNON 

it  is." — He  raised  his  head. — "Love  is  described  as 
a  child  among  all  nations,  because  he  does  not  con- 
ceive himself  unless  all  life  is  his — Well,  this 
sentiment  has  its  limitation,  indicated  by  nature. 
It  is  still-born.  The  most  ingenious  maternity  has 
divined,  has  calmed  this  sad  point  in  my  heart,  for 
a  woman  who  feels,  who  sees  the  joys  of  love  die, 
has  angelic  tenderness.  Therefore  the  duchess  has 
never  caused  me  the  least  suffering  of  this  kind.  In 
ten  years  there  has  never  been  a  word  or  look  to 
wound  me.  I  attach  to  words,  to  thoughts,  to  looks, 
more  value  than  ordinary  persons  accord  to  them. 
If  to  me  a  look  is  an  immense  treasure,  the  least 
suspicion  is  a  deadly  poison.  It  acts  instan- 
taneously. I  no  longer  love.  To  my  mind,  and 
contrary  to  that  of  the  crowd  who  love  to  tremble, 
hope  and  wait,  love  should  reside  in  a  perfect,  child- 
like, infinite  security. — For  me  the  delicious  purga- 
tory that  women  like  to  make  for  us  here  below 
with  their  coquetry,  is  an  atrocious  happiness 
which  I  refuse;  for  me  love  is  Heaven  or  Hell. 
Hell,  I  will  not  have  it,  and  I  feel  within  myself  the 
strength  to  bear  the  eternal  azure  of  Paradise.  I 
give  myself  without  reserve.  I  shall  have  neither 
secret,  doubt  nor  deception  in  the  life  to  come,  and 
I  ask  reciprocity.  I  offend  you,  perhaps,  in  sus- 
pecting you!  Believe  that  in  this  I  speak  to  you 
only  of  myself — " 

"Much,  but  it  will  never  be  too  much,"  said 
Modeste,  stabbed  by  all  the  stings  of  this  discourse 
in  which  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu  served  as  a 


MODESTE  MIGNON  351 

dagger.  "I  am  in  the  habit  of  admiring  you,  my 
dear  poet." 

"Well,  can  you  promise  me  this  dog-like  fidelity 
which  I  offer  you  ?  Is  it  not  beautiful  ?  Is  it  not 
what  you  wish?" 

"Why,  dear  poet,  do  you  not  seek  in  marriage  a 
mute  who  is  blind  and  a  little  foolish?  I  do  not  ask 
more  than  to  please  my  husband  in  everything,  but 
you  threaten  to  deprive  a  girl  of  that  especial  hap- 
piness which  you  arrange  for  her,  to  take  it  from 
her  at  the  slightest  gesture,  the  slightest  word,  the 
slightest  look!  You  cut  the  bird's  wings  and  you 
wish  to  see  it  fly.  I  know  well  that  poets  are  ac- 
cused of  inconsistency — Oh!  unreservedly,"  she 
said,  at  a  gesture  of  denial  which  Canal  is  made, 
"for  this  so-called  fault  is  due  to  the  fact  that  vul- 
gar people  do  not  take  into  account  the  rapidity  of 
the  actions  of  their  minds.  But  I  did  not  know 
that  a  man  of  genius  would  invent  the  contradic- 
tory conditions  of  a  like  game  and  would  call  it 
life!  You  ask  the  impossible  in  order  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  finding  me  at  fault,  like  the  enchanters 
in  fairy  tales,  who  give  tasks  to  persecute  young 
girls  whom  good  fairies  succor." 

"Here  the  fairy  would  be  true  love,"  said 
Canal  is  in  a  sharp  tone,  as  he  saw  that  his  reason 
for  being  piqued  had  been  divined  by  this  fine 
and  delicate  mind  which  Butscha  had  guided  so 
well. 

"You  resemble  at  this  moment,  dear  poet,  those 
parents  who  are  anxious  about  the  girl's  dowry 


352  MODESTE  MIGNON 

before  showing  that  of  their  son.  You  are  squeam- 
ish with  me,  without  knowing  if  you  have  the  right 
to  be.  Love  is  not  established  by  conventions, 
dryly  discussed.  The  poor  Due  d'Herouville  allows 
himself  to  act  with  the  abandon  of  Uncle  Toby  in 
Sterne,  with  this  difference  merely:  that  I  am  not 
the  Widow  Wadman,  although  widowed  of  many 
illusions  about  poetry.  Yes!  we  do  not  wish  to 
believe  anything,  we  young  girls,  of  that  which 
upsets  our  world  of  ideas.  I  was  told  all  this  in 
advance !  Ah !  you  are  making  a  bad  quarrel  with 
me,  unworthy  of  you.  I  do  not  recognize  the  Mel- 
chior  of  yesterday." 

"Because  Melchior  has  recognized  in  you  an  am- 
bition which  you  count  still — " 

Modeste  looked  at  Canal  is  from  head  to  toe  with 
an  imperial  glance. 

"But  I  shall  some  day  be  ambassador  and  peer  of 
France,  as  well  as  he." 

"You  take  me  for  a  girl  of  the  middle-class,"  she 
replied  as  she  mounted  the  steps.  But  she  turned 
quickly  and  added,  losing  her  dignified  air,  she  was 
so  suffocated:  "It  is  less  impertinent  than  for  you 
to  take  me  for  a  fool.  The  change  in  your  manners 
has  its  cause  in  the  idle  talk  which  is  reported  at 
Havre,  and  which  Francoise,  my  maid,  has  just 
repeated  to  me." 

"Ah!  Modeste,  can  you  believe  that?"  said 
Canal  is,  taking  a  dramatic  pose.  "You  do  not  then 
imagine  me  capable  of  marrying  you  only  for  your 
fortune?" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  353 

"If  I  have  done  you  that  injustice  after  your  edi- 
fying remarks  on  the  borders  of  the  Seine,  you  have 
only  to  undeceive  me,  and  then  I  shall  be  all  that 
you  would  wish  me  to  be,"  she  said,  withering  him 
with  her  disdain. 

"If  you  think  to  catch  me  in  this  trap,"  said  the 
poet  to  himself  as  he  followed  her,  "you  think  me 
younger  than  I  am.  Must  one  then  have  so  many 
ceremonies  with  a  sly  little  person  whose  esteem  is 
of  no  more  importance  to  me  than  that  of  the  King 
of  Borneo?  But  in  ascribing  to  me  an  unworthy 
sentiment,  she  gives  good  reason  for  my  new  atti- 
tude. Is  she  cunning! — La  Briere  will  be  saddled 
like  a  little  fool  that  he  is,  and  in  five  years  we 
shall  laugh  well  with  her  about  him." 

The  coldness  which  this  altercation  had  put  be- 
tween Canal  is  and  Modeste  was  noticeable  to  all 
eyes  in  the  evening.  Canal  is  withdrew  at  an  early 
hour,  pleading  La  Briere's  indisposition,  and  he  left 
the  field  open  to  the  Grand  Equerry.  Toward 
eleven  o'clock,  Butscha,  who  came  for  Madame  La- 
tournelle,  said  with  a  smile,  very  softly  to  Modeste: 

"Was  I  right?" 

"Alas!  yes,"  she  said. 

"But  did  you,  according  to  our  agreement,  leave 
the  door  partly  open  so  that  he  would  return?" 

"My  anger  got  the  better  of  me,"  replied  Mo- 
deste. "Such  meanness  made  the  blood  go  to  my 
head  and  I  gave  him  his  dues." 

"Well,  so  much  the  better!  When  you  are  both 
so  much  at  variance  as  not  to  speak  graciously  any 
23 


354  MODESTE  MIGNON 

more,  I  will  take  care  to  make  him  so  in  love  and  so 
importunate  as  to  deceive  even  you." 

"Come,  now,  Butscha,  he  is  a  great  poet,  a  gen- 
tleman and  a  man  of  spirit." 

"Your  father's  eight  millions  are  more  than  all 
that." 

"Eight  millions?"  said  Modeste. 

"My  master,  who  is  selling  his  practice,  is  going 
to  leave  for  Provence  in  order  to  direct  the  acquisi- 
tions which  Castagnould,  your  father's  head  man, 
proposes.  The  amount  of  the  contracts  to  re-acquire 
the  property  of  La  Bastie  reaches  four  millions  and 
your  father  has  consented  to  all  the  purchases.  You 
have  two  millions  for  dowry  and  the  colonel  allows 
for  your  establishment  at  Paris,  a  house  and  fur- 
nishings!— Calculate  for  yourself." 

"Ah!  1  can  be  the  Duchesse  d'Herouville,"  said 
Modeste  looking  at  Butscha. 

"If  it  had  not  been  for  this  comedian,  Ca- 
nal is,  you  would  have  kept  his  whip  as  coming 
from  me,"  said  the  clerk,  thus  pleading  La  Briere's 
cause. 

"Monsieur  Butscha,  would  you  then,  have  me 
marry,  at  hazard,  to  suit  you?"  said  Modeste  with 
a  laugh. 

"This  worthy  fellow  loves  as  much  as  I  do.  You 
have  loved  him  for  a  week,  and  he  is  a  man  of 
heart,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"And  can  he  then  compete  with  an  office  of  the 
Crown?  There  are  only  six  of  them:  Grand  Al- 
moner, Chancellor,  Grand  Chamberlain,  Grand 


MODESTE  MIGNON  355 

Master,  Constable,  Grand  Admiral,  but  the  Consta- 
bles are  no  longer  so  named." 

"In  six  months  the  people,  mademoiselle,  who 
are  composed  of  an  infinite  number  of  bad  Butschas, 
may  blow  down  all  these  grandeurs,  and  besides, 
what  does  nobility  signify  to-day  ?  There  are  not 
a  thousand  true  gentlemen  in  France.  The  Herou- 
villes  spring  from  a  verger  of  Robert  of  Normandy. 
You  would,  indeed,  have  many  vexations  with  those 
two  old  maids  with  wrinkled  faces!  If  you  insist 
upon  the  title  of  duchess,  you  are  of  Avignon  and 
the  Pope  surely  would  have  as  much  regard  for  you 
as  for  the  merchants,  and  he  will  sell  you  some 
duchy  ending  in  nia  or  agno.  Do  not  stake  your 
happiness  against  an  office  of  the  Crown!" 


Canal  is's  reflections  during  the  night  were  en- 
tirely positive.  He  saw  nothing  in  the  world  worse 
for  a  man  than  to  be  married  without  fortune.  Still 
trembling  from  the  danger  which  his  vanity,  ex- 
cited by  Modeste,  and  the  desire  of  snatching  her 
away  from  the  Due  d'Herouville,  and  his  belief  in 
Monsieur  Mignon's  millions,  had  led  him  into,  he 
asked  himself  what  the  Duchesse  deChaulieu  must 
think  of  his  stay  at  Havre,  which  had  been  aggra- 
vated by  an  epistolary  silence  of  two  weeks,  when 
at  Paris  they  wrote  one  another  four  or  five  letters 
a  week. 

"And  the  poor  woman  who  is  working  to  obtain 
for  me  the  ribbon  of  the  Commander  of  the  Legion 
of  Honor  and  the  post  of  Minister  at  the  court  of  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Baden,"  he  exclaimed. 

Immediately  with  that  rapidity  of  decision  which 
with  poets  as  with  speculators,  results  from  a  quick 
intuition  of  the  future,  he  sat  at  his  table  and  com- 
posed the  following  letter: 

TO  THE  DUCHESSE  DE  CHAULIEU 

"My  dear  Eleonore, 

"Without  doubt  you  are  astonished  at  not  having 
heard  from  me  yet,  but  the  sojourn  which  I  am 
making  here  has  not  had  my  health  alone  for  a 

(357) 


358  MODESTE  MIGNON 

motive,  but  it  is  a  question  of  my  repaying  in  some 
manner  our  little  La  Briere.  This  poor  fellow  has 
become  much  enamored  of  a  certain  Mademoiselle 
Modeste  de  la  Bastie,  a  pale,  insignificant,  stringy 
little  girl,  who  by  the  way,  has  the  vice  to  love 
literature  and  calls  herself  a  poetess  to  justify  the 
caprices,  the  whims  and  the  changes  of  a  very  bad 
disposition.  You  know  Ernest,  and  he  is  so  easy  to 
captivate,  that  I  have  not  wished  to  let  him  go 
alone.  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie  has  flirted 
strangely  with  your  Melchior;  she  was  much  dis- 
posed to  become  your  rival,  although  she  has  thin 
arms  and  small  shoulders,  like  all  young  girls;  hair 
more  nondescript  than  that  of  Madame  de  Rochefide, 
and  very  suspicious  little  gray  eyes.  I  called  a 
halt,  perhaps  too  cruelly,  to  the  graciousness  of  this 
Immodest;  but  unique  love  is  thus.  What  are  the 
women  of  the  earth  to  me  beside  you  ? 

"The  people  with  whom  I  pass  my  time  and  who 
form  the  accompaniment  of  the  heiress,  are  so  mid- 
dle-class that  they  would  make  one  sick.  Pity  me ! 
I  pass  my  evenings  with  lawyers'  clerks,  with  law- 
yers' wives,  cashiers,  and  a  provincial  usurer ;  and 
surely  there  is  a  vast  difference  between  these  and 
the  evenings  at  the  Rue  de  Crenelle.  The  pre- 
tended fortune  of  the  father,  who  has  returned  from 
China,  has  obtained  for  us  the  presence  of  the  ever- 
lasting wooer,  the  Grand  Equerry,  all  the  more 
eager  for  the  millions,  as  it  is  said  he  needs 
six  or  seven  of  them  to  improve  the  famous 
swamp  of  Herouville.  The  king  does  not  know 


MODESTE  MIGNON  359 

how  fatal  is  the  present  he  made  to  the  little  duke! 
His  Grace,  who  does  not  suspect  the  small  ness  of 
his  desired  father-in-law's  fortune,  is  jealous  only 
of  me.  La  Briere  is  making  his  way  near  his  idol 
under  cover  of  his  friend,  who  serves  as  a  screen. 
In  spite  of  Ernest's  ecstasies,  I,  although  a  poet, 
think  of  the  essentials;  and  the  information  which 
I  have  just  learned  concerning  the  fortune,  darkens 
our  secretary's  future,  whose  fiancee  has  teeth  of 
an  edge  disquieting  for  every  kind  of  fortune.  If 
my  angel  wishes  to  compensate  for  some  of  our 
sins,  she  will  try  to  learn  the  truth  of  this  matter, 
by  causing  Mongenod,  his  banker,  to  come  to  her 
and  question  him  with  the  skill  which  characterizes 
her.  Monsieur  Charles  Mignon,  an  old  cavalry 
colonel  of  the  Imperial  Guard,  has  been  for  seven 
years  a  correspondent  of  the  house  of  Mongenod. 
The  talk  is  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs  of  dowry 
at  the  utmost,  and  I  wish,  before  making  the  de- 
mand for  Ernest,  to  have  positive  information. 
Once  our  friends  are  in  accord,  I  shall  return  to 
Paris.  I  know  how  to  finish  everything  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  our  lover;  it  concerns  the  transmission 
of  the  title  of  count  to  Monsieur  Mignon's  son-in- 
law,  and  no  one  is  more  able  than  Ernest,  on  ac- 
count of  his  services,  to  obtain  this  favor,  especially 
seconded  by  us  three,  you,  the  duke  and  I.  With 
his  tastes,  Ernest,  who  will  readily  become  Master  of 
Accounts,  will  be  very  happy  at  Paris  to  see  himself 
at  the  head  of  twenty-five  thousand  francs  a  year, 
a  permanent  place,  and  a  wife,  the  unhappy  man ! 


360  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Ah!  my  dear,  how  I  long  to  see  once  more  the 
Rue  de  Crenelle!  Two  weeks  of  absence,  when 
they  do  not  destroy  love,  give  it  the  ardor  of  its 
first  days,  and  you  know  better  than  I,  perhaps,  the 
reasons  which  render  my  love  eternal.  My  bones 
in  the  tomb  will  love  you  still ! 

"Therefore  must  I  not  be  constant  to  it  here?  If 
I  am  forced  to  remain  ten  days  longer,  I  shall  go  to 
Paris  for  some  hours. 

"Has  the  duke  obtained  anything  with  which  to 
hang  me?  And,  my  dear  life,  will  you  not  need  to 
drink  the  waters  at  Baden  next  year  ?  The  cooings 
of  our  melancholy  lover,  compared  to  the  accents  of 
our  happy  love,  always  the  same  at  every  moment 
for  almost  ten  years,  have  given  me  great  contempt 
for  marriage !  And  1  have  never  seen  these  matters 
so  closely.  Ah!  dear,  that  which  is  called  a  fault, 
unites  two  beings  much  more  than  the  law,  does  it 
not?" 

This  idea  served  as  a  text  for  two  pages  of  mem- 
ories and  hopes,  a  little  too  intimate  to  be  allowed 
to  be  published. 

The  evening  of  the  day  before  Canal  is  posted  this 
epistle,  Butscha,  who  replied  under  the  name  of 
Jean  Jacmin  to  a  letter  from  his  pretended  cousin, 
Philoxene,  sent  his  reply  twelve  hours  in  advance 
of  the  poet's  letter. 

Most  anxious  for  two  weeks  and  wounded  by 
Melchior's  silence,  the  duchess,  who  had  dictated 
Philoxene's  letter  to  her  cousin,  had  just  learned 


MODESTE  MIGNON  361 

exact  information  concerning  Colonel  Mignon's  for- 
tune, after  reading  the  reply  of  the  clerk,  a  little 
too  decisive  for  the  self-love  of  a  woman  fifty  years 
old.  Seeing  herself  betrayed  and  abandoned  for 
millions,  Eleonore  was  a  prey  to  a  paroxysm  of 
rage,  of  hatred  and  of  cold  wickedness.  Philoxene 
knocked  to  enter  her  mistress'  sumptuous  chamber, 
and  found  her  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  and  re- 
mained stupefied  at  this  phenomenon,  without  pre- 
cedent, during  the  fifteen  years  she  had  served  her. 

"One  expiates  in  ten  minutes  the  happiness  of 
ten  years,"  exclaimed  the  duchess. 

"A  letter  from  Havre,  madame." 

Eleonore  read  the  prose  of  Canal  is,  without  notic- 
ing Philoxene's  presence,  whose  astonishment  grew 
in  seeing  serenity  return  to  the  duchess's  face  in 
proportion  as  she  went  on  with  the  reading.  Hold 
to  a  drowning  man  a  stick  as  big  as  a  cane,  and  he 
will  see  in  it  a  royal  highway.  Thus  the  happy 
Eleonore  believed  in  Canal is's  good  faith  in  reading 
these  four  pages  in  which  love  and  business,  truth 
and  falsehood  elbowed  one  another.  She  who, 
when  the  banker  had  left,  had  just  commanded  her 
husband  to  prevent  Melchior's  nomination,  if  there 
were  still  time,  was  taken  by  a  sentiment  of  gener- 
osity which  rose  almost  to  the  sublime. 

"Poor  fellow!"  she  thought,  "he  has  not  had  the 
least  evil  thought.  He  loves  me  as  at  first  He 
has  told  me  everything." 

"Philoxene!"  she  said,  seeing  her  waiting  maid 
standing,  apparently  arranging  the  toilet  table. 


362  MODESTE  MIGNON 

"Madame  la  Duchesse?" 

"My  hand-glass,  child." 

Eleonore  looked  at  herself  and  saw  the  fine  lines 
traced  upon  her  forehead,  and  which  disappeared 
at  a  distance.  She  sighed,  and  by  that  sigh  she 
bade  farewell  to  love.  Then  she  conceived  one  of 
those  strong  thoughts  outside  of  the  pettinesses  of 
women,  a  thought  which  intoxicates  for  some 
moments,  and  whose  intoxication  can  explain  the 
clemency  of  the  Semiramis  of  the  North  when  she 
married  her  young  and  beautiful  rival  to  Momonoff. 

"Since  he  has  not  failed  me,  I  wish  him  to  have 
the  millions  and  the  girl,"  she  thought,  "if  this  lit- 
tle Mademoiselle  Mignon  is  as  homely  as  he  says." 

Three  elegantly  given  blows  announced  the  duke, 
for  whom  his  wife  opened  the  door  herself. 

"Ah!  you  are  better,  my  dear,"  he  exclaimed, 
with  that  feigned  joy  which  courtiers  know  how  to 
act  so  well,  and  at  the  expression  of  which  silly 
people  are  taken. 

"My  dear  Henri,"  she  replied,  "it  is  really  in- 
conceivable that  you  have  not  yet  obtained  Mel- 
chior's  nomination,  you  who  have  sacrificed  yourself 
for  the  king  in  accepting  a  ministry  of  a  year, 
knowing  that  it  would  last  hardly  that  time." 

The  duke  looked  at  Philoxene,  and  the  maid 
designated,  by  an  almost  imperceptible  sign,  the 
letter  from  Havre  lying  on  the  table. 

"You  will  grow  very  weary  indeed  in  Germany, 
and  you  will  return  from  there  after  having  quar- 
reled with  Melchior,"  said  the  duke  ingenuously. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  363 

"And  why?" 

"Will  you  not  always  be  together  ?"  asked  this 
old  ambassador,  with  comical  good  nature. 

"Oh!  no,"  she  said.    "I  am  going  to  marry  him." 

"If  we  may  believe  d'Herouville,  my  dear, Canal  is 
is  not  waiting  for  your  kind  efforts,"  replied  the 
duke  with  a  smile.  "Yesterday  Grandlieu  read 
me  some  passages  of  a  letter  which  the  Grand 
Equerry  had  written  to  him,  and  which,  no  doubt, 
were  directed  to  your  address  by  the  aunt,  for  Ma- 
demoiselle d'Herouville,  always  on  the  watch  for  a 
dowry,  knows  that  we  play  whist  almost  every 
evening,  Grandlieu  and  I.  That  good  little 
d'Herouville  wants  the  Prince  de  Cadignan  to  give 
a  royal  hunt  in  Normandy  and  begs  him  to  have  the 
king  there  to  turn  the  head  of  the  damosel  when  she 
sees  herself  the  object  of  such  a  fete.  In  fact,  two 
words  from  Charles  X.  would  settle  the  whole 
affair.  D'Herouville  says  that  the  girl  has  incom- 
parable beauty." 

"Henri,  let  us  go  to  Havre!"  cried  the  duchess 
interrupting  her  husband. 

"Under  what  pretext ?"  gravely  asked  this  man 
who  was  one  of  the  confidants  of  Louis  XVIII. 

"I  have  never  seen  a  hunt" 

"That  would  be  all  right  if  the  king  went,  but  it 
would  be  a  nuisance  to  go  so  far,  and  he  will  not 
go.  I  have  just  been  talking  to  him  about  it" 

"MADAME  may  go." — 

"That  would  be  better,"  replied  the  duke,  "and 
perhaps  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  would  help 


364  MODESTE  MIGNON 

me  to  draw  her  away  from  Rosny.  The  king  would 
then  think  it  proper  for  us  to  use  his  hunting  equi- 
page. Don't  go  to  Havre,  my  dear,"  said  the  duke 
paternally,  "that  would  give  you  away.  Here,  I 
have  thought  of  a  better  plan.  Gaspard  has  his 
chateau  of  Rosembray  on  the  other  side  of  the  forest 
of  Brotonne,  why  not  give  him  a  hint  to  invite 
them  all?" 

"Through  whom?"  asked  Eleonore. 

"His  wife,  the  duchess,  who  accompanies  Made- 
moiselle d'Herouville  to  Communion,  might,  on  the 
suggestion  of  this  old  maid,  ask  Gaspard. 

"You  are  an  adorable  man,"  said  Eleonore.  "I 
will  write  two  words  to  the  old  maid  and  to  Diane, 
at  once,  for  we  must  have  our  hunting  costumes 
made.  A  hunting  cap  makes  one  look  so  young. 
Did  you  win  yesterday  at  the  English  embassy?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  duke,  "I  am  ahead  now." 

"Above  all,  Henri,  suspend  everything  else  for 
the  two  nominations  of  Melchior." 

After  having  written  ten  lines  to  the  beautiful 
Diane  de  Maufrigneuse  and  a  word  of  advice  to  Ma- 
demoiselle d'Herouville,  Eleonore  sent  this  answer, 
like  the  lash  of  a  whip,  through  Canalis's  lies: 


TO  MONSIEUR  THE  BARON  DE  CANALIS 

"My  dear  poet, 

"Mademoiselle  de  la   Bastie   is  very  beautiful. 
Mongenod  assures  me  that  her  father  is  worth  eight 


MODESTE  MIGNON  365 

millions.  I  thought  of  marrying  you  to  her  and  1 
am  much  displeased  at  your  lack  of  confidence.  If 
in  going  to  Havre,  you  intended  marrying  La  Briere 
to  her,  I  do  not  understand  why  you  did  not  tell  me 
before  you  started.  And  why  do  you  let  two  weeks 
pass  without  writing  to  a  friend  as  easily  made 
anxious  as  I?  Your  letter  came  a  little  too  late,  I 
had  already  seen  the  banker.  You  are  a  child,  Mel- 
chior,  and  you  are  trying  to  fool  us,  and  it  is  not 
wise.  The  duke  himself  is  outraged  at  your  con- 
duct, he  thinks  you  less  than  a  gentleman,  which 
casts  some  doubts  on  your  mother's  honor. 

"Now,  I  intend  to  see  things  for  myself.  I  will 
have,  I  think,  the  honor  of  an  invitation  to  accon> 
pany  MADAME  to  the  hunt  which  the  Due  d'Herou- 
ville  gives  to  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie.  I  will  ar- 
range for  you  to  be  invited  to  Rosembray,  for  the 
meet  of  the  hunt  will  probably  be  at  the  estate  of 
the  Due  de  Verneuil. 

"Pray  believe,  my  dear  poet,  that  I  am  none  the 
less,  for  life, 

"Your  friend 

"ELEONORE." 


"There!  Ernest,"  said  Canalis,  throwing  the 
letter  which  he  received  at  breakfast  at  La  Briere's 
nose  across  the  table,  "there  is  the  two  thousandth 
love  letter  which  I  have  received  from  that  woman 
and  the  familiar  thou  is  absent.  The  illustrious 
Eleonore  has  never  compromised  herself  more  than 


366  MODESTE  M1GNON 

this.  Go  ahead  and  get  married!  The  worst 
marriage  is  better  than  this  sort  of  a  tie.  Ah!  I  am 
the  greatest  Nicodemus  who  ever  fell  from  the  moon. 
Modeste  has  millions  and  she  is  lost  to  me  forever, 
for  we  can't  get  back  to  the  poles  from  where  we 
are,  toward  the  tropics  where  we  were  only  three 
days  ago!  However,  I  am  all  the  more  interested 
in  your  triumph  over  the  Grand  Equerry,  as  I  told 
the  duchess  I  was  here  only  in  your  interest;  there- 
fore, I  intend  to  work  for  you." 

"Alas!  Melchior,  Modeste  would  have  to  be  so 
grand,  so  noble,  so  firm,  to  resist  the  glories  of  the 
Court  and  the  splendors  so  cleverly  displayed  in 
her  honor  and  to  the  glory  of  the  duke  that  1  dare 
not  believe  that  such  perfection  can  exist,  and  yet 
if  she  is  still  the  Modeste  of  her  letters,  I  will  not 
despair." 

"You  are  happy,  indeed,  young  Boniface,  to  see 
the  world  and  your  mistress  through  green  spec- 
tacles!" cried  Canal  is  as  he  went  out  to  walk  in 
the  garden. 

Caught  between  two  lies,  the  poet  did  not  know 
which  way  to  turn. 

"Play  according  to  rule,  and  you  lose,"  he  cried, 
seated  in  the  kiosk.  "Assuredly,  any  sensible 
man  would  have  acted  as  I  did  four  days  ago  and 
would  have  withdrawn  from  a  net  in  which  he  saw 
himself  caught,  for  in  such  cases  people  don't  untie 
the  nets,  they  break  through  them ! — Come,  I  must 
be  cool,  calm,  dignified,  affronted.  Honor  does  not 
allow  me  to  do  otherwise.  An  English  stiffness  is 


MODESTE  MIGNON  367 

the  only  means  to  regain  Modeste's  esteem.  After 
all,  if  I  have  to  retire  from  the  field,  I  can  go  back 
to  my  former  happiness.  A  fidelity  of  ten  years 
must  be  recompensed.  Eleonore  will  arrange  some 
good  marriage  for  me." 


The  hunt  was  to  be  the  rendezvous  of  all  the  pas- 
sions put  into  play  by  the  colonel's  fortune  and 
Modeste's  beauty;  there  seemed  to  be  a  truce  be- 
tween the  adversaries  and  during  the  several  days 
needed  in  preparation  for  this  sylvan  solemnity,  the 
salon  of  the  Mignons  offered  as  tranquil  an  aspect 
as  though  a  united  family  was  gathered  there.  Ca- 
nalis,  thrown  back  on  his  r&le  of  a  man  wounded  by 
Modeste,  wanted  to  appear  courteous;  he  threw 
aside  his  pretensions,  gave  no  more  samples  of  his 
oratorical  talent  and  became  what  men  of  mind  are 
when  robbed  of  their  affectations, — charming.  He 
talked  of  finances  with  Gobenheim,  war  with  the 
colonel,  Germany  with  Madame  Mignon,  house- 
keeping with  Madame  Latournelle,  trying  all  the 
time  to  seduce  them  for  La  Briere.  The  Due 
d'Herouville  left  the  camp  free  to  the  two  friends 
very  often,  as  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  Rosembray  to 
consult  with  the  Due  de  Verneuil  and  see  that  the 
orders  of  the  Master  of  the  Hunt,  the  Prince  de 
Cadignan,  were  executed.  However,  the  comic  ele- 
ment was  not  lacking.  Modeste  was  between  the 
depreciatory  remarks  which  Canalis  suggested 
against  the  Grand  Equerry  and  the  exaggerated 
praises  given  him  by  the  two  d'Herouville  ladies, 
who  came  every  evening.  Canalis  observed  to 
Modeste  that  instead  of  being  the  heroine  of  the 
24  (369) 


370  MODESTE  MIGNON 

hunt,  she  would  hardly  be  noticed.  MADAME  would 
be  accompanied  by  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse, 
daughter-in-law  of  the  Prince  de  Cadignan,  the 
Duchesse  de  Chaulieu  and  several  ladies  of  the 
Court,  among  whom  a  little  girl  like  her  would  pro- 
duce no  sensation.  He  thought  they  would  invite 
the  officers  in  garrison  at  Rouen,  etc.  Helene  never 
ceased  to  repeat  to  Modeste,  whom  she  already 
looked  upon  as  a  sister-in-law,  that  she  would  be 
presented  to  MADAME;  that  the  Due  de  Verneuil 
would  be  sure  to  invite  her  and  her  father  to  stay 
at  Rosembray ;  if  the  colonel  wished  to  obtain  a 
favor  of  the  king,  the  peerage,  for  instance,  this 
occasion  would  be  unique,  for  they  did  not  despair 
of  the  king's  presence  on  the  third  day;  that  she 
would  be  surprised  at  the  charming  welcome  which 
the  most  beautiful  ladies  of  the  court,  the  Duchesses 
de  Chaulieu,  De  Maufrigneuse,  De  Lenoncourt- 
Chaulieu,  etc.,  would  accord  her,  Modeste's  preju- 
dices against  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  will  all 
be  dissipated,  etc.,  etc.  It  was  indeed  an  exceed- 
ingly amusing  little  warfare,  with  its  marches,  its 
counter-marches,  and  its  stratagems  which  the  Du- 
mays,  the  Latournelles,  Gobenheim  and  Butscha 
much  enjoyed  in  their  private  confabulations  when 
they  criticized  these  nobles  frightfully,  noting  with 
cruel  minuteness  their  cowardices. 

The  words  of  the  d'Herouville  party  were  con- 
firmed by  an  invitation  expressed  in  flattering  terms 
from  the  Due  de  Verneuil  and  the  Master  of  the 
Hunt  of  France  to  the  Count  de  la  Bastie  and  his 


MODESTE  MIGNON  371 

daughter  to  assist  at  a  grand  hunt  at  Rosembray  the 
seventh,  eighth,  ninth  and  tenth  days  of  November 
next. 

La  Briere,  full  of  dark  presentiments,  enjoyed  Mo- 
deste's  presence  with  that  sentiment  of  concentrated 
avidity  whose  pleasures  are  only  known  to  lovers  sep- 
arated fatally  from  those  they  love.  Flashes  of  hap- 
piness came  to  him,  intermingled  with  melancholy 
meditations  on  this  theme:  "She  is  lost  to  me!" 
which  rendered  this  young  man  a  spectacle  all  the 
more  touching  that  his  expression  and  person  were 
in  harmony  with  this  profound  feeling.  There  is 
nothing  more  poetic  than  an  animated  elegy  with 
restless  eyes  and  whose  sighs  have  no  rhymes. 

Finally  the  Due  d'Herouville  came  to  arrange  for 
Modeste's  departure,  who,  after  she  crossed  the 
Seine,  was  to  go  in  the  duke's  carriage  with  the 
d'Herouville  ladies.  The  duke  was  more  than 
courteous;  he  invited  Canal  is  and  La  Briere  saying 
to  them,  as  to  Monsieur  Mignon,  that  he  had  taken 
care  to  procure  hunting  horses  for  them.  The  colo- 
nel asked  the  three  lovers  of  his  daughter  to  break- 
fast the  morning  of  their  departure.  Canal  is  then 
began  to  put  into  execution  a  plan  which  had 
ripened  for  several  days;  that  of  reconquering 
Modeste  secretly  and  to  throw  over  the  duchess,  the 
Grand  Equerry  and  La  Briere.  A  proficient  in 
diplomacy  would  hardly  allow  himself  to  remain  in 
his  present  position.  On  his  side,  La  Briere  had 
determined  to  bid  an  eternal  farewell  to  Modeste. 
Thus  each  suitor  appreciating  that  the  end  of  the 


372  MODESTE  MIGNON 

struggle,  which  had  lasted  three  weeks,  had  come, 
thought  of  slipping  in  a  last  word  as  the  counsel  in 
a  case  desires  a  last  word  with  the  judge  before 
sentence  is  pronounced.  After  dinner  that  evening, 
the  colonel  took  his  daughter  by  the  arm  and  made 
her  understand  the  necessity  of  a  decision  one  way 
or  the  other. 

"Our  position  with  the  d'Herouville  family  will 
be  intolerable  at  Rosembray,"  he  said.  "Tell  me, 
do  you  intend  to  become  a  duchess?" 

"No,  father,"  she  replied. 

"Do  you  love  Canal  is  then?" 

"Certainly  not,  father,  a  thousand  times  no,"  she 
said  with  childish  impatience. 

The  colonel  looked  at  Modeste  with  a  kind  of  joy. 

"Ah!  I  have  not  influenced  you,"  said  this  good 
father,  "but  I  can  now  confess  that  I  chose  my  son- 
in-law  in  Paris,  when,  having  made  him  believe  that 
I  had  little  fortune,  he  embraced  me,  saying  that  I 
had  lifted  a  weight  of  one  hundred  pounds  from  his 
heart" 

"Of  whom  are  you  speaking?"  asked  Modeste 
blushing. 

"Of  the  man  of  positive  virtues  and  sure  moral- 
ity," he  said,  laughingly  repeating  the  phrase 
which,  the  morning  after  his  return,  had  dissipated 
Modeste's  dreams. 

"Ah!  I  was  not  thinking  of  him,  papa!  Leave 
me  free  to  refuse  the  duke  myself.  I  understand 
him,  I  know  how  to  flatter  him — " 

"Your  choice  is  not  then  made?" 


MODESTE  MIGNON  373 

"Not  yet  There  are  still  several  syllables  in  the 
charade  of  my  future  to  be  guessed.  After  I  have 
seen  the  Court  life  at  Rosembray,  I  promise  to  tell 
you  my  secret." 

"You  will  go  to  the  hunt,  I  suppose?"  cried  the 
colonel,  seeing  La  Briere  from  afar  coming  into  the 
lane  where  he  was  walking  with  Modeste. 

"No,  colonel,"  replied  Ernest  "I  have  come  to 
take  leave  of  you  and  of  mademoiselle,  I  return  to 
Paris—" 

"You  have  no  curiosity,"  said  Modeste  interrupt- 
ing him  and  looking  timidly  at  Ernest 

"A  desire — which  I  dare  not  hope  for — would  be 
sufficient  to  make  me  remain,"  he  said. 

"If  that  is  all,  you  must  stay  to  please  me,"  said 
the  colonel  going  forward  to  join  Canal  is  and  leav- 
ing his  daughter  and  poor  La  Briere  together  for  a 
few  moments. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said  raising  his  eyes  to  hers 
with  the  courage  of  despair,  "1  have  a  favor  to  ask 
of  you." 

"Of  me?" 

"It  is  that  I  may  take  away  with  me  your  for- 
giveness! My  life  will  never  be  happy  and  I  have 
the  remorse  of  having  lost  my  happiness  through 
my  own  fault;  but  at  least — " 

"Before  leaving  us  forever,"  said  Modeste  inter- 
rupting a  la  Canal  is  in  a  voice  of  emotion,  "I  wish 
to  ask  you  one  thing,  and  if  you  once  practised  dis- 
guising yourself,  I  do  not  think  you  base  enough  to 
deceive  me — " 


374  MODESTE  MIGNON 

The  word  base  made  Ernest  -turn  pale. 

"Ah!  you  are  pitiless!"  he  cried. 

"Will  you  be  frank?" 

"You  have  the  right  to  ask  me  so  degrading  a 
question,"  he  said  in  a  voice  weakened  by  the 
violent  palpitation  of  his  heart 

"Well  then,  have  you  read  my  letters  to  Monsieur 
de  Canal  is?" 

"No,  mademoiselle,  and  I  only  showed  them  to  the 
colonel  in  order  to  justify  my  attachment  by  show- 
ing him  how  it  was  born  and  how  sincere  had  been 
my  attempts  to  cure  you  of  your  mistaken  idea." 

"But  how  did  the  idea  of  this  ignoble  masquer- 
ading come  about?"  she  asked  impatiently. 

La  Briere  related  truthfully  the  scene  occasioned 
by  the  first  of  Modeste's  letters,  and  how  he  had 
been  challenged  on  expressing  a  good  opinion  of  a 
young  girl,  who  was  attracted  toward  fame  as  a 
flower  toward  the  sun. 

"Enough,"  said  Modeste  restraining  her  emotion. 
"If  you  have  not  my  heart,  monsieur,  you  have 
at  least  my  esteem." 

This  simple  phrase  caused  the  most  violent 
emotion  in  La  Briere.  He  felt  himself  tottering, 
and  leaned  against  a  tree,  like  a  man  deprived  of 
reason.  Modeste  had  turned  away,  but  seeing  him 
she  came  back  quickly. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked,  taking  his 
hand  to  prevent  his  fall  ing.  His  hand  was  icy  cold 
and  his  face  as  pale  as  a  lily,  all  his  blood  had  gone 
to  his  heart. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  375 

"Forgive  me,  mademoiselle— but  I  thought  you 
despised  me — " 

"But,"  she  replied  with  haughty  disdain,  "I 
have  not  said  that  I  loved  you." 

And  she  again  left  La  Briere,  who  in  spite  of  the 
harshness  of  her  last  speech,  thought  that  he  walked 
on  air.  The  earth  softened  under  his  feet,  the  trees 
seemed  to  blossom  with  flowers,  the  sky  became 
rose  color  and  the  air  cerulean,  as  in  the  hymen 
temples,  in  those  fairytales  which  end  happily.  In 
such  cases,  women  are  like  Janus.  They  see  what 
takes  place  behind  them  without  turning  around, 
and  Modeste  saw  in  the  countenance  of  this  lover 
the  unmistakable  symptoms  of  a  love  like  Butscha's, 
which  is  certainly  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  a  woman's 
desires.  The  high  estimate  which  La  Briere  at- 
tached to  her  esteem  caused  Modeste  an  infinitely 
sweet  emotion. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Canal  is,  leaving  the  colo- 
nel, and  joining  Modeste,  "in  spite  of  the  small 
value  which  you  attach  to  my  feelings,  my  honor 
demands  that  I  efface  a  blemish  under  which  it  has 
suffered  too  long.  Five  days  after  my  arrival  here, 
see  what  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu  wrote  me." 

He  let  Modeste  read  the  first  lines  of  the  letter  in 
which  the  duchess  said  that  she  had  seen  Mongenod 
and  wished  Melchior  to  marry  Modeste;  then  he 
tore  up  the  rest  of  the  letter,  leaving  her  that  frag- 
ment. 

"I  cannot  allow  you  to  see  the  rest,"  he  said, 
putting  the  paper  into  his  pocket,  "but  I  trust  these 


376  MODESTE  MIGNON 

few  lines  to  your  delicacy  in  order  that  you  may 
verify  the  handwriting.  The  young  girl  who  has 
supposed  me  to  have  unworthy  sentiments  is  also 
capable  of  believing  some  collusion  or  stratagem. 
This  may  prove  how  much  I  desire  to  convince  you 
that  the  quarrel  which  exists  between  us  has  not 
had,  with  me,  a  selfish  interest  for  basis.  Ah! 
Modeste, "  he  said  in  a  choking  voice,  "your  poet, 
the  poet  of  Madame  de  Chaulieu,  has  not  less 
poetry  in  his  heart  than  in  his  mind.  You  will  see 
the  duchess;  suspend  your  judgment  of  me  until 
then."  And  he  left  Modeste  bewildered. 

"Ah,  yes!  they  are  all  angels,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "but  they  are  not  marriageable!  the  duke 
alone  seems  to  belong  to  humanity." 

"Mademoiselle  Modeste,  this  hunting  party 
makes  me  nervous,"  said  Butscha,  who  appeared 
carrying  a  package  under  his  arm.  "I  dreamed 
that  your  horse  ran  away  with  you,  so  I  went  to 
Rouen  to  find  a  Spanish  bit,  as  I  am  told  a  horse  can 
never  take  it  between  his  teeth.  I  implore  you  to 
use  it.  I  have  shown  it  to  the  colonel,  who  has 
already  thanked  me  more  than  it  is  worth." 

"Poor,  dear  Butscha!"  exclaimed  Modeste,  moved 
to  tears  by  this  motherly  care. 

Butscha  went  away  skipping  joyously,  like  a  man 
who  has  just  learned  of  the  death  of  an  old  uncle 
whose  heir  he  will  be. 

"My  dear  father,"  said  Modeste  as  she  returned 
to  the  drawing-room,  "I  wish  very  much  to  have 
that  beautiful  whip.  Suppose  you  ask  Monsieur 


MODESTE  MIGNON  377 

de  la  Briere  to  exchange  it  for  your  picture  by  Van 
Ostade?" 

Modeste  looked  at  Ernest  slyly  while  the  colonel 
made  him  the  proposition  before  this  picture;  the 
only  thing  which  he  had  as  souvenir  of  his  cam- 
paigns and  which  he  had  purchased  of  a  citizen  of 
Ratisbonne.  She  said  to  herself,  as  she  saw  with 
what  precipitation  La  Briere  left  the  salon,  "He 
will  be  of  the  hunting-party!" 

It  was  a  strange  thing  that  each  of  the  three 
lovers  of  Modeste  should  go  to  Rosembray  with  a 
heart  full  of  hope  and  enraptured  with  her  adorable 
qualities. 

Rosembray,  an  estate  lately  bought  by  the  Due 
de  Verneuil  with  the  sum  which  gave  him  his  por- 
tion of  the  thousand  millions  of  francs  voted  to 
legitimize  the  sale  of  national  estates,  is  remarka- 
ble for  a  chateau  of  a  magnificence  comparable  to 
that  of  Mesniere  and  Balleroy.  This  imposing  and 
noble  edifice  is  reached  by  an  immense  avenue  of 
four  rows  of  venerable  elms,  and  through  a  very 
large  sloping  Court  of  Honor  like  that  of  Versailles 
with  magnificent  gates,  two  lodges  for  the  con- 
cierge, and  ornamented  with  large  orange  trees  in 
boxes.  The  chateau  looks  out  upon  the  court  be- 
tween two  buildings  at  each  side;  two  rows  of  nine- 
teen tall  arched  sculptured  windows,  with  small 
panes  of  glass,  separated  by  a  series  of  fluted 
columns.  An  entablature  with  balustrade  hides  an 
Italian  roof,  from  which  rise  chimneys  of  cut  stone 
concealed  by  trophies  of  arms.  Rosembray  was 


378  MODESTE  MIGNON 

built  under  Louis  XIV.  by  a  farmer-general  named 
Cottin.  Upon  the  park  the  facade  is  distinguished 
from  that  on  the  court  by  a  projection  of  five  win- 
dows with  columns,  above  which  a  magnificent 
pediment  rises.  The  family  of  Marigny,  to  whom 
the  property  of  this  Cottin  was  brought  by  Made- 
moiselle Cottin,  sole  heiress  of  her  father,  ordered 
a  sunrise  to  be  carved  there  by  Coysevox.  Under- 
neath two  angels  are  unrolling  a  ribbon  upon  which 
may  be  read  this  device,  substituted  for  the  old  one 
in  honor  of  the  great  King:  Sol  nobis  benignus.  The 
great  king  had  conferred  a  dukedom  on  the  Marquis 
de  Marigny,  though  he  was  one  of  the  least  of  his 
favorites. 

From  the  landing  of  the  grand  circular  steps  with 
balustrade,  the  view  extends  over  an  immense  pond, 
as  long  and  broad  as  the  grand  canal  at  Versailles; 
which  begins  at  the  end  of  a  lawn  worthy  of  the 
most  English  greensward,  bordered  with  baskets  in 
which  the  autumnal  flowers  were  then  brilliant. 
At  each  side,  two  gardens  in  the  French  style  dis- 
played their  squares  and  paths,  their  beautiful  pages 
written  in  the  most  majestic  style  of  Le  Notre. 
These  two  gardens  are  framed  their  entire  length 
by  a  grove  of  trees  of  about  thirty  acres,  in  which, 
under  Louis  XV.,  English  parks  were  laid  out. 
From  the  terrace  the  view  is  finished  at  the  bot- 
tom by  a  forest,  a  dependency  of  Rosembray,  and 
adjoining  two  forests,  one  belonging  to  the  state, 
the  other  to  the  crown.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find 
a  more  beautiful  landscape. 


The  arrival  of  Modeste  made  a  certain  sensation 
in  the  avenue,  where  a  carriage  with  the  livery  of 
France  was  seen  approaching,  accompanied  by  the 
Grand  Equerry,  the  colonel,  Canal  is  and  LaBriere, 
all  on  horseback,  preceded  by  an  outrider  in  grand 
livery,  followed  by  ten  servants,  among  whom  were 
noticed  the  mulatto,  the  negro,  and  the  elegant 
britzka  of  the  colonel  for  the  two  maids  and  the 
baggage.  The  carriage  with  four  horses  was  driven 
by  tigers  dressed  with  a  splendor  ordered  by  the 
Grand  Equerry,  who  was  often  better  served  than 
the  king.  As  she  entered  and  saw  this  little  Ver- 
sailles, Modeste,  dazzled  by  the  magnificence  of 
these  grand  lords,  suddenly  thought  of  her  interview 
with  the  celebrated  duchesses,  and  feared  that  she 
would  appear  embarrassed,  provincial  or  parvenu; 
indeed  she  lost  her  head  completely  and  repented  of 
having  desired  this  hunting-party. 

When  the  carriage  stopped,  most  fortunately  Mo- 
deste noticed  her  host,  an  old  man  with  white  wig 
curled  in  little  ringlets,  whose  calm,  full,  smooth 
face  presented  a  fatherly  smile  and  expressed  a 
monastic  sprightliness  which  was  made  almost 
noble  by  his  half-veiled  glance.  The  duchess,  a 
woman  of  the  greatest  devoutness,  the  only  daugh- 
ter of  an  extremely  rich  man,  a  first  president  of  a 
law  court  who  died  in  1800,  was  lean  and  straight, 

(379) 


380  MODESTE  MIGNON 

the  mother  of  four  children,  and  resembled  Madame 
Latournelle,  if  the  imagination  will  consent  to  em- 
bellish the  notary's  wife  with  all  the  graces  of  a 
manner  which  was  truly  that  of  an  abbess. 

"Ah!  good-morning,  dear  Hortense,"  said  Made- 
moiselle d'Herouville,  who  embraced  the  duchess 
with  all  the  sympathy  which  united  these  two 
haughty  characters;  "allow  me  to  present  to  you, 
also  to  our  dear  duke,  this  little  angel,  Mademoiselle 
de  la  Bastie." 

"We  have  heard  so  much  said  about  you,  made- 
moiselle," said  the  duchess,  "that  we  have  been 
very  eager  to  have  you  here." 

"We  regret  the  lost  time,"  said  the  Due  de  Ver- 
neuil,  as  he  bowed  with  gallant  admiration. 

"Monsieur  le  Comte  de  la  Bastie,"  said  the  Grand 
Equerry,  as  he  took  the  colonel  by  the  arm  and 
presented  him  to  the  duke  and  duchess  with  respect- 
ful tone  and  gesture. 

The  colonel  saluted  the  duchess,  the  duke  ex- 
tended his  hand  to  him.  "Welcome,  Monsieur 
le  Comte,"  said  Monsieur  de  Verneuil.  "You 
possess  many  treasures,"  he  added,  looking  at  Mo- 
deste. 

The  duchess  took  Modeste  by  the  arm  and  led  her 
into  an  immense  salon  where  a  dozen  women  were 
grouped  before  the  chimney-piece.  The  men,  led 
by  the  duke,  were  promenading  upon  the  terrace, 
with  the  exception  of  Canal  is,  who  surrendered 
himself  respectfully  to  the  superb  Eleonore.  The 
duchess,  seated  at  a  tapestry  frame,  was  giving 


MODESTE  MIGNON  381 

advice  about  shading  the  colors  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Verneuil. 

If  Modeste  had  pricked  her  finger  with  a  needle  in 
handling  a  pincushion,  she  could  not  have  been 
more  deeply  hurt  than  she  was  by  the  icy,  haughty, 
disdainful  glance  which  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu 
cast  upon  her.  From  the  first  moment,  she  saw 
only  this  woman  and  she  fathomed  her.  To  under- 
stand to  what  point  the  cruelty  of  these  charming 
beings,  whom  our  passions  deify,  may  extend,  we 
must  see  women  among  themselves.  Modeste 
would  have  disarmed  any  other  than  Eleonore  by 
her  unrestrained  and  involuntary  admiration  for 
her,  for  without  knowing  her  age,  she  would  have 
thought  she  was  looking  at  a  woman  of  thirty-six — 
but  many  other  astonishing  things  were  reserved  for 
her. 

The  poet  came  under  the  anger  of  the  great  lady. 
Such  anger  is  like  the  most  fearful  sphinx;  the 
face  being  radiant,  all  the  rest  threatening.  The 
exquisite,  cold  politeness  which  a  mistress  hides 
under  her  steel  armor  kings  themselves  cannot  make 
capitulate.  The  exquisite  head  of  the  woman 
smiles,  and  at  the  same  time  she  becomes  steel ; 
the  hand,  the  arms,  the  body, — all  is  of  steel. 
Canal  is  endeavored  to  cling  to  this  steel,  but  his 
fingers  slipped  on  it  as  his  words  upon  her  heart. 
And  the  gracious  head,  the  gracious  speech,  and  the 
gracious  bearing  of  the  duchess  disguised  from  all 
the  steel  of  her  temper,  which  had  descended  to 
twenty-five  degrees  below  zero.  The  aspect  of  the 


382  MODESTE  MIGNON 

sublime  beauty  of  Modeste  heightened  by  the  jour- 
ney, and  the  sight  of  this  young  girl  dressed  as  well 
as  Diane  de  Maufrigneuse,  had  ignited  the  powder 
heaped  up  in  Eleonore's  mind. 

All  the  women  had  gone  to  the  window  to  see 
alight  from  her  carriage  the  wonder  of  the  day,  ac- 
companied by  her  three  lovers. 

"Do  not  let  us  appear  too  curious,"  Madame  de 
Chaulieu  had  said,  cut  to  the  heart  by  Diane's  ex- 
clamation, "She  is  divine!  Where  did  she  come 
from?" 

And  they  flew  back  into  the  salon,  where  each 
one  recovered  her  usual  expression,  and  where  the 
Duchesse  de  Chaulieu  felt  a  thousand  vipers  in  her 
heart  which  all  demanded  to  be  fed  at  the  same 
time. 

Mademoiselle  d'Herouville  said  meaningly  in  a 
low  voice  to  the  Duchesse  de  Verneuil : 

"Eleonore  receives  her  great  Melchior  very 
badly." 

"The  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  believes  that 
there  is  a  coldness  between  them,"  replied  Laure 
de  Verneuil  simply. 

This  phrase,  spoken  so  often  in  society,  is  indeed 
very  expressive.  The  wind  of  the  North  Pole  is  felt 
in  it. 

"And  why  so?"  asked  Modeste  of  that  charming 
young  girl  who  had  come  out  of  the  Sacred  Heart 
only  two  months  before. 

"The  great  man,"  replied  the  devout  duchess, 
who  made  a  sign  to  her  daughter  to  be  silent,  "left 


MODESTE  MIGNON  383 

her  without  one  word  for  two  weeks  after  his  depar- 
ture for  Havre,  after  having  told  her  that  he  had 
gone  there  for  his  health." 

Modeste  made  a  hasty  movement,  which  struck 
Laure,  Helene,  and  Mademoiselle  d'Herouville. 

"And  during  this  time,"  continued  the  devout 
duchess,  "she  procured  for  him  the  nomination  of 
Commander  and  Minister  at  Baden." 

"Oh,  it  was  wicked  in  Canalis,  for  he  owes 
everything  to  her,"  said  Mademoiselle  d'Herouville. 

"Why  did  not  Madame  de  Chaulieu  come  to 
Havre?"  asked  Modeste  naively  of  Helene. 

"My  little  one,"  said  the  Duchesse  de  Verneuil, 
"she  would  allow  herself  to  be  cut  to  pieces  without 
saying  a  word.  Look  at  her !  What  a  queen !  Her 
head  on  the  block,  she  would  smile  as  Mary  Stuart 
did;  and  our  beautiful  Eleonore  has,  moreover, 
some  of  that  blood  in  her  veins." 

"Did  she  not  write  to  him?"  asked  Modeste. 

"Diane,"  replied  the  duchess,  encouraged  in 
these  confidences  by  a  nudge  on  the  elbow  by  Made- 
moiselle d'Herouville,  "tells  me  that  she  made  a 
very  stinging  reply  to  the  first  letter  that  Canalis 
wrote  her,  about  ten  days  ago." 

This  explanation  made  Modeste  blush  with  shame 
for  Canalis;  she  longed,  not  to  crush  him  under  her 
feet,  but  to  avenge  herself  by  one  of  those  malicious 
acts  more  cruel  than  a  dagger's  blow.  She  looked 
haughtily  at  the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu.  It  was  a 
look  gilded  by  eight  millions. 

"Monsieur  Melchior!"  she  said. 


384  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Every  woman  raised  her  head  and  cast  her  eyes 
alternately  upon  the  duchess,  who  was  talking  in  a 
low  voice  with  Canal  is  at  the  frame,  and  upon  this 
young  girl  so  badly  brought  up  as  to  interrupt  two 
lovers  engaged  in  a  quarrel,  a  thing  not  done  in  any 
society.  Diane  de  Maufrigneuse  tossed  her  head  as 
if  saying,  "The  child  is  in  the  right" 

The  dozen  women  ended  by  smiling  among  them- 
selves, for  they  were  all  jealous  of  a  woman  fifty- 
six  years  old,  still  beautiful  enough  to  be  able  to 
filch  from  the  common  treasury  the  share  due  to 
youth. 

Melchior  looked  at  Modeste  with  a  feverish  impa- 
tience and  with  the  gesture  of  a  master  to  a  ser- 
vant, while  the  duchess  lowered  her  head  with  a 
movement  like  a  lioness,  disturbed  at  her  feast; 
but  her  eyes  looking  at  the  canvas  darted  almost  red 
flames  at  the  poet,  while  seeking  in  her  heart  some 
epigrammatic  blows,  for  each  word  revealed  a  triple 
insult. 

"Monsieur  Melchior,"  repeated  Modeste  in  a 
voice  which  had  the  right  to  make  itself  heard. 

"What,  mademoiselle?"  asked  the  poet 

Obliged  to  rise,  he  remained  standing  midway 
between  the  frame,  which  was  near  a  window,  and 
the  chimney-piece,  near  which  Modeste  was  seated 
on  a  sofa  by  the  Duchesse  de  Verneuil.  What 
poignant  reflections  this  ambitious  man  made  as  he 
received  the  fixed  look  of  Eleonore !  If  he  obeyed 
Modeste,  all  was  over  forever  between  the  poet  and 
his  protectress.  Not  to  listen  to  the  young  girl, 


CANALIS  BETWEEN  MODESTE  AND 
THE  DUCHESSE 


The  beauty  and  the  fortune  of  Modeste,  placed  in 
juxtaposition  with  the  influence  and  the  rights  of 
Eleonore,  made  this  hesitation  between  the  man  and 
his  honor  as  terrible  to  witness  as  the  peril  of  a 
matador  in  the  arena.  A  man  rarely  experiences 
sucJi  palpitations  as  tJiose  which  almost  gave  Canalis 
an  aneurism,  except  before  the  green  cloth,  when  his 
ruin  or  his  fortune  is  decided  in  five  minutes. 


tM^r  '!> 


MODESTE  MIGNON  385 

would  be  for  Canal  is  to  declare  his  servitude,  he 
would  annul  the  profit  of  his  twenty-five  days  of 
trickery,  and  he  would  be  wanting  in  the  simplest 
laws  of  civility.  The  greater  the  folly,  the  more 
imperiously  the  duchess  exacted  it  The  beauty 
and  the  fortune  of  Modeste,  placed  in  juxtaposition 
with  the  influence  and  the  rights  of  Eleonore,  made 
this  hesitation  between  the  man  and  his  honor  as 
terrible  to  witness  as  the  peril  of  a  matador  in  the 
arena.  A  man  rarely  experiences  such  palpitations 
as  those  which  almost  gave  Canalis  an  aneurism, 
except  before  the  green  cloth,  when  his  ruin  or  his 
fortune  is  decided  in  five  minutes. 

"Mademoiselle  d'Herouville  hurried  me  from  the 
carriage  so  quickly  that  I  have  left  my  handkerchief 
there,"  said  Modeste  to  Canalis. 

Canalis  shrugged  his  shoulders  significantly. 

"And,"  said  Modeste,  continuing  in  spite  of  this 
impatient  gesture,  "1  have  tied  up  in  it  the  key  of 
a  portfolio  which  contains  a  piece  of  an  important 
letter ;  have  the  kindness,  Melchior,to  get  it  for  me — " 

Between  an  angel  and  a  tigress,  equally  irritated, 
Canalis  became  pallid,  but  he  hesitated  no  longer, 
the  tigress  appeared  to  him  less  dangerous;  he  was 
going  to  show  his  intentions  when  La  Briere  ap- 
peared at  the  drawing-room  door,  and  he  seemed  to 
him  like  the  archangel  Michael  falling  from 
Heaven. 

"Ernest,  stop,  Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie  wants 
you,"  said  the  poet,  who  quickly  regained  his  chair 
near  the  duchess. 
25 


386  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Ernest  ran  to  Modeste  without  bowing  to  any 
one,  he  saw  only  her;  he  received  this  commission 
with  noticeable  happiness,  and  rushed  from  the 
room  with  the  secret  approbation  of  all  the  women. 

"What  an  occupation  for  a  poet,"  said  Modeste  to 
Helene,  pointing  out  the  tapestry  frame  at  which 
the  duchess  was  working  furiously. 

"If  you  speak  to  her,  if  you  look  at  her  once,  all 
is  over  between  us  forever,"  said  Eleonore  to  Mel- 
chior  in  a  low  voice,  as  she  was  not  satisfied  with 
the  compromise  of  Ernest 

"Think  well  of  it  When  I  am  not  by,  I  shall 
leave  eyes  which  will  observe  you." 

At  these  words  the  duchess,  a  woman  of  medium 
height,  but  a  little  too  stout,  as  are  all  women  past 
fifty  who  remain  handsome,  rose  and  walked,  step- 
ping daintily  on  small  and  sinewy  feet  like  those  of 
a  roe,  toward  the  group  in  which  Diane  de  Maufrign- 
euse  was.  Beneath  her  plumpness  was  revealed 
the  exquisite  delicacy  with  which  this  sort  of 
woman  is  endowed,  and  which  gives  her  the 
vigor  of  her  nervous  system  which  dominates 
and  invigorates  the  development  of  the  flesh. 
Otherwise  her  light  step,  which  was  of  an  incom- 
parable nobleness,  could  not  be  explained. 

Only  the  women  whose  quarterings  begin  with 
Noah,  know  how,  like  Eleonore,  to  be  queenly  in 
spite  of  being  as  plump  as  a  farmer's  wife.  A 
philosopher,  perhaps,  would  have  pitied  Philoxene 
in  admiring  the  fortunate  distribution  of  the  corsage 
and  the  careful  details  of  a  morning  costume,  carried 


MODESTE  MIGNON  387 

off  with  the  elegance  of  a  queen  and  the  ease  of  a 
young  woman.  With  hair,  daringly  dressed  with 
abundant  curls,  without  any  dye,  and  braided  high 
upon  her  head,  Eleonore  proudly  displayed  her 
snowy  neck,  her  breast  and  beautifully  modeled 
shoulders,  her  dazzlingly  brilliant  bare  arms,  and 
celebrated  hands.  Modeste,  like  all  the  antagonists 
of  the  duchess,  recognized  in  her  one  of  those 
women  of  whom  one  naturally  says:  "She  is  our 
superior."  And,  indeed,  Eleonore  was  one  of  those 
grand  women  who  have  now  become  so  rare  in 
France.  It  would  be  like  trying  to  analyze  the  sub- 
lime, to  attempt  to  describe  the  stateliness  in  the 
carriage  of  her  head,  the  fineness  and  delicacy  in 
such  and  such  a  bending  of  her  neck,  the  harmony 
in  her  movements,  the  dignity  in  her  bearing,  the 
nobility  in  the  perfect  accord  of  the  details  with  the 
whole,  and  in  those  artifices  which  finally  become 
natural  and  which  make  of  a  woman  something 
grand  and  sacred.  This  poetry  is  enjoyed  like  that 
of  Paganini,  without  being  able  to  explain  to  one's 
self  its  medium,  for  the  cause  is  always  the  soul, 
which  is  manifesting  itself. 

The  duchess  inclined  her  head  to  salute  Helene 
and  her  aunt,  then  she  said  to  Diane  in  a  sprightly, 
pure  voice,  without  a  sign  of  emotion : 
"Is  it  not  time  for  us  to  dress,  duchess?" 
And  she  went  out,  accompanied  by  her  daugh- 
ter-in-law and  Mademoiselle  d'Herouville,  both  of 
whom  gave  her  an  arm.     She  talked  low,  in  going 
out,  with  the  elderly  lady,  who  pressed  her  against 


388  MODESTE  MIGNON 

her  heart  saying:  "How  charming  you  are!" 
which  signified,  "I  am  indebted  to  you  for  the  ser- 
vice which  you  have  just  done  us." 

Mademoiselle  d'Herouville  returned  to  play  the 
spy  and  her  first  glance  apprised  Canal  is  that  the 
last  word  of  the  duchess  had  not  been  a  vain  threat. 
The  diplomatic  apprentice  found  he  had  too  little 
science  for  such  a  terrible  struggle,  but  his  intelli- 
gence at  least  enabled  him  to  put  himself  into  a  true, 
if  not  worthy  position.  When  Ernest  reappeared 
bringing  Modeste's  handkerchief,  he  took  him  by 
the  arm  and  led  him  out  upon  the  lawn. 

"My  dear  friend,"  he  said  to  him,  "I  am  not  only 
the  most  unhappy,  but  the  most  ridiculous  man  in 
the  world;  therefore,  I  have  recourse  to  you  to  draw 
me  out  of  the  wasp's  nest  into  which  I  have  thrust 
myself.  Modeste  is  a  demon;  she  has  seen  my 
embarrassment,  she  is  laughing  at  it,  and  she  has 
just  spoken  of  two  lines  from  one  of  Madame  de 
Chaulieu's  letters,  which  I  was  so  foolish  as  to 
trust  to  her.  Should  she  show  them,  I  shall  never 
be  able  to  make  up  with  Eleonore.  Therefore,  ask 
Modeste  at  once  for  this  paper  and  tell  her  from  me, 
that  I  have  no  views  respecting  her,  no  pretensions. 
I  count  upon  her  delicacy,  upon  the  honor  of  a 
young  girl,  to  conduct  herself  toward  me  as  if  we 
had  never  seen  one  another.  I  beg  her  not  to  speak 
to  me,  and  I  entreat  her  to  treat  me  with  sternness, 
without  daring  to  ask  from  her  a  sort  of  jealous 
anger  which  would  serve  my  interests  marvelously 
well.  Go!  1  will  await  you  here." 


Ernest  de  la  Briere  noticed,  as  he  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  a  young  officer  of  the  company  of 
the  Guards  of  Havre,  the  Vicomte  de  Serizy,  who 
had  just  arrived  from  Rosny  to  announce  that  MA- 
DAME was  obliged  to  attend  at  the  opening  of  the 
session.  One  knows  how  important  this  constitu- 
tional solemnity  was  when  Charles  X.  pronounced 
his  discourse,  surrounded  by  all  his  family,  Madame 
la  Dauphine  and  MADAME  being  there  in  their  trib- 
une. The  choice  of  ambassador  charged  to  ex- 
press the  regrets  of  the  princess  was  an  attention 
to  Diane.  It  was  said  she  was  adored  by  this 
charming  young  man,  son  of  a  Minister  of  State, 
gentleman  of  the  king's  bed-chamber,  with  the  pros- 
pect of  a  high  destiny  in  his  quality  of  only  son  and 
the  heir  of  an  immense  fortune.  The  Duchesse 
de  Maufrigneuse  allowed  the  attentions  of  the  vis- 
count only  for  the  purpose  of  better  calling  attention 
to  the  age  of  Madame  de  Serizy,  his  mother,  who 
according  to  the  chronicle  published  sub  rosa,  had 
stolen  away  from  her  the  heart  of  the  handsome 
Lucien  de  Rubempre. 

"You  will  do  us  the  pleasure,  I  hope,  of  remain- 
ing at  Rosembray,"  said  the  severe  duchess  to  the 
young  officer. 

In  opening  her  ears  widely  to  scandal,  the  devout 
woman  closed  her  eyes  to  the  levity  of  her  guests, 
(389) 


3QO  MODESTE  MIGNON 

carefully  paired  off  by  the  duke;  for  one  does  not 
know  all  that  these  excellent  women  will  tolerate 
under  the  pretext  of  leading  back  to  the  fold, 
through  their  indulgence,  the  erring  sheep. 

"We  reckoned,"  said  the  Grand  Equerry,  "with- 
out our  constitutional  government,  and  Rosembray 
and  Madame  la  Duchesse  will  lose  a  great  honor  by 
it—" 

"We  shall  only  be  more  at  our  ease  by  it,"  said 
a  tall,  lean  old  man,  of  about  seventy-five  years  old, 
dressed  in  blue  cloth,  and  keeping  on  his  hunting 
cap  with  the  ladies'  permission. 

This  personage,  who  greatly  resembled  the  Due 
de  Bourbon,  was  no  less  than  the  Prince  de  Cadig- 
nan,  Master  of  the  Hounds,  one  of  the  last  great 
French  lords. 

At  the  instant  when  La  Briere  tried  to  pass  be- 
hind the  sofa  to  ask  for  a  moment's  conversation 
with  Modeste,  a  man  thirty-eight  years  old,  short, 
fat,  and  vulgar,  entered. 

"My  son,  the  Prince  de  Loudon,"  said  the  Duch- 
esse de  Verneuil  to  Modeste,  who  could  not  repress 
an  expression  of  astonishment  at  seeing  by  whom 
the  name  was  borne  which  the  general  of  the  Ven- 
dean  cavalry  had  made  so  celebrated,  both  by  his 
boldness  and  by  the  martyrdom  of  his  sufferings. 

The  present  Due  de  Verneuil  was  a  third  son 
taken  by  his  father  with  him  when  he  emigrated 
and  the  sole  survivor  of  four  children. 

"Gaspard!"  said  the  duchess  calling  her  son  to 
her. 


MODESTE  MIGNON  391 

The  young  prince  came  at  his  mother's  command, 
who  continued  as  she  pointed  to  Modeste: 

"Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie,  my  friend." 

The  heir  presumptive,  whose  marriage  had  been 
arranged  with  the  only  daughter  of  Desplein,  bowed 
to  the  young  girl,  without  appearing  to  be  struck 
with  wonder  at  her  beauty  as  his  father  had  been. 
Modeste  could  then  compare  the  youth  of  to-day 
with  the  old  age  of  former  times,  for  the  old  Prince 
de  Cadignan  had  already  said  to  her  two  or  three 
charming  things,  thus  proving  to  her  that  he  ren- 
dered as  much  homage  to  woman  as  to  royalty. 
The  Due  de  Rhetore,  the  eldest  son  of  Madame  de 
Chaulieu,  chiefly  noticeable  for  that  tone  which 
unites  impertinence  and  unceremoniousness,  had, 
like  the  Prince  de  Loudon,  bowed  to  Modeste 
almost  cavalierly.  The  reason  of  this  contrast 
between  the  sons  and  fathers  comes,  perhaps,  from 
the  fact  that  the  heirs  do  not  feel  themselves 
of  great  importance  like  their  grandfathers,  and 
rid  themselves  of  the  burden  of  power  when  they 
find  that  they  possess  only  the  shadow  of  it 
The  fathers  have  still  the  politeness  inherent  to 
their  vanished  grandeur,  like  the  summits  still 
gilded  by  the  sun  when  everything  is  in  shadow 
around. 

At  last  Ernest  could  whisper  two  words  to  Mo- 
deste, who  arose. 

"My  little  dear,"  said  the  duchess  thinking 
Modeste  was  going  to  dress,  as  she  drew  the  bell- 
rope,  "you  shall  be  conducted  to  your  room." 


392  MODESTE  MIGNON 

Ernest  went  with  Modeste  to  the  grand  staircase, 
repeating  to  her  the  unfortunate  Canal is's  request, 
and  he  tried  to  touch  her  by  painting  Melchior's 
agonies. 

"He  loves,  you  see!  He  is  a  captive  who 
thought  he  could  break  his  chain." 

"That  fierce,  fortune  calculator  in  love?"  laughed 
Modeste. 

"Mademoiselle,  you  are  entering  life,  you  do  not 
know  its  windings.  You  must  pardon  a  man  all  his 
inconsistencies,  who  puts  himself  under  the  domin- 
ion of  a  woman  older  than  himself,  for  he  is  power- 
less. Think  of  the  sacrifices  Canal  is  has  made  for 
his  divinity !  Now  he  has  sown  too  many  seeds  to 
disdain  the  harvest,  the  duchess  represents  ten  years 
of  care  and  happiness.  You  have  made  this  poet 
forget  all,  who  unfortunately  has  more  vanity  than 
pride;  he  has  known  what  he  was  losing  only  when 
he  again  saw  Madame  de  Chaulieu.  If  you  knew 
Canalis  you  would  aid  him.  He  is  a  child  who  is 
always  upsetting  his  life!  You  call  him  a  calculator ; 
but  he  calculates  very  badly.  Besides,  like  all  poets 
and  people  of  sentiment,  he  is  full  of  childish  actions, 
dazzled  like  children  by  that  which  sparkles,  and 
running  after  it.  He  loved  horses  and  pictures, 
then  he  cherished  fame;  he  sold  his  pictures  to 
have  armor,  and  furniture  of  the  Renaissance  and  of 
Louis  XV.  Now  he  wants  power.  Acknowledge 
at  least  that  his  playthings  are  noble." 

"Enough!"  said  Modeste.  "Come,"  she  said,  as 
she  saw  her  father,  whom  she  called  by  a  sign  of  her 


MODESTE  MIGNON  393 

head,  to  ask  for  his  arm,  "I  am  going  to  give  you 
the  two  lines;  you  will  carry  them  to  the  great  man, 
and  assure  him  of  an  entire  compliance  with  his 
wishes  on  my  part,  but  on  one  condition.  I  wish 
you  to  give  him  my  thanks  for  the  pleasure  I  have 
had  in  seeing  played,  for  myself  alone,  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  German  theatrical  plays.  I  know 
now  that  the  masterpiece  of  Goethe  is  neither  Faust 
nor  the  Count  of  Egmont." 

And  as  Ernest  looked  with  a  puzzled  air  at  the 
mischievous  girl,  she  continued:  "It  is  Torquato 
Tasso.  Tell  Monsieur  de  Canal  is  to  read  it  over 
again,"  she  added  with  a  smile.  "I  insist  that  you 
repeat  this  word  for  word  to  your  friend,  for  this  is 
not  an  epigram,  but  the  justification  of  his  conduct, 
with  this  difference,  that  he  will  become,  I  hope, 
very  reasonable,  thanks  to  Eleonore's  folly." 

The  first  lady  in  waiting  of  the  duchess  led  the 
way  for  Modeste  and  her  father  to  their  rooms, 
where  Franchise  Cochet  had  already  put  everything 
in  order,  the  elegance  and  refinement  of  which  as- 
tonished the  colonel,  when  Francoise  said  that  there 
were  thirty  apartments  of  this  style  in  the  chateau. 

"This  is  what  I  understand  by  a  landed  estate," 
said  Modeste. 

"The  Comte  de  la  Bastie  must  build  a  similar 
chateau  for  you,"  replied  the  colonel. 

"Here,  monsieur, "said  Modeste,  giving  the  little 
paper  to  Ernest,  "go  and  reassure  our  friend." 

This  expression  "our  friend"  struck  the  auditor. 
He  looked  at  Modeste  to  know  if  there  was  anything 


394  MODESTE  MIGNON 

serious  in  the  community  of  sentiments  which  she 
appeared  to  accept,  and  the  young  girl  understand- 
ing this  interrogation,  said  to  him : 

"Well,  hurry!    Your  friend  awaits  you." 

La  Briere  blushed  exceedingly  and  went  out  in  a 
state  of  doubt,  anxiety,  and  of  trouble  more  cruel 
than  despair.  The  approaches  to  happiness  are, 
for  true  lovers,  comparable  to  that  which  Catholic 
poetry  has  so  well  called  the  entrance  to  Paradise. 
It  expresses  a  shadowy,  difficult,  and  narrow  place 
where  the  last  cries  of  the  supreme  agony  resound. 

One  hour  later,  the  illustrious  company,  in  full 
complement,  was  reunited  in  the  salon,  some  play- 
ing whist,  others  talking,  and  the  ladies  busy  with 
some  trifling  work  while  waiting  for  the  announce- 
ment of  dinner.  The  Master  of  the  Hounds  was 
talking  with  Monsieur  Mignon  about  China,  his 
campaigns,  about  the  families  of  Portenduere,  the 
1'Estorades,  and  the  Maucombes  of  Provence.  He 
reproached  him  for  not  having  asked  for  service,  in 
assuring  him  that  nothing  was  easier  than  to  restore 
him  to  his  rank  of  colonel  in  the  Guard. 

"A  man  of  your  birth  and  fortune  ought  not  to 
wed  the  opinions  of  the  present  opposition,"  said 
the  prince  with  a  smile. 

This  society,  of  the  best,  not  only  pleased 
Modeste,  but  she  acquired  there,  during  her  stay,  a 
perfection  of  manner  which  without  this  revelation 
would  have  been  wanting  all  her  life.  Show  a 
clock  to  an  embryo  mechanic  and  it  will  reveal  to 
him  the  mechanism  in  its  entirety,  as  it  immediately 


MODESTE  MIGNON  395 

develops  the  germs  of  a  faculty  which  sleeps 
within  him.  In  the  same  way,  Modeste  knew  how 
to  appropriate  for  herself  all  that  made  the  Duch- 
esses de  Maufrigneuse  and  de  Chaulieu  distin- 
guished. All  this  was  for  her  an  education,  although 
one  of  the  middle-class  would  have  brought  away 
only  the  ridiculousness  of  an  imitation  of  these 
manners.  A  young  girl  well-born,  educated  and  in- 
clined as  Modeste,  naturally  put  herself  in  sym- 
pathy with  her  surroundings  and  discovered  the 
differences  which  separate  the  aristocratic  world 
from  that  of  the  middle-class,  the  province  from  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain.  She  seized  these  almost 
undiscernible  shades,  and  recognized  the  grace  of 
the  great  lady  without  despairing  of  acquiring  it 
She  found  that  her  father  and  La  Briere  appeared 
infinitely  better  than  Canal  is  in  the  bosom  of  this 
Olympus.  The  great  poet,  abdicating  his  real  and 
incontestable  power,  that  of  the  mind,  was  only  a 
Master  of  Requests  desiring  the  office  of  Minister, 
pursuing  the  collar  of  Commander,  and  obliged  to 
please  all  these  constellations.  Ernest  de  la  Briere, 
without  ambition  remained  himself;  while  Mel- 
chior,  having  become  a  toady,  to  make  use  of  a 
vulgar  expression,  courted  the  Prince  de  Loudon, 
the  Due  de  Rhetore,  the  Vicomte  de  Serizy,  and 
the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse,  as  a  man  who  did  not 
dare  to  speak  his  mind  like  Colonel  Mignon,  Comte 
de  la  Bastie,  proud  of  his  services  and  the  esteem  of 
the  Emperor  Napoleon.  Modeste  remarked  the  con- 
tinual preoccupation  of  the  man  of  mind  seeking  an 


396  MODESTE  MIGNON 

opportunity  for  a  witticism,  a  brilliant  speech  to 
cause  laughter  or  a  compliment  to  flatter  these 
mighty  powers  with  whom  Melchior  wished  to  re- 
main on  good  terms.  Thus,  at  last,  this  peacock 
lost  his  plumage. 

In  the  middle  of  the  evening,  Modeste  seated  her- 
self with  the  Grand  Equerry  in  a  corner  of  the 
drawing-room.  She  had  led  him  there  to  end  a 
struggle  which  she  could  no  longer  encourage 
without  despising  herself. 

"Monsieur  le  Due,  if  you  knew  me,"  she  said  to 
him,  "you  would  know  how  much  I  am  touched  by 
your  attentions.  Precisely  on  account  of  the  deep 
esteem  which  I  have  conceived  for  your  character, 
and  of  the  friendship  which  a  soul  like  yours  in- 
spires, I  would  not  wish  to  wound  your  self-love 
in  the  slightest  degree.  Before  your  arrival  at 
Havre,  I  loved  sincerely,  deeply,  and  forever,  a 
person  worthy  of  being  loved,  and  for  whom  my 
affection  is  still  a  secret;  but  know — and  here  I  am 
more  sincere  than  most  young  girls — that  if  I  had 
not  had  this  voluntary  attachment  you  would  have 
been  my  choice,  so  greatly  do  I  recognize  noble  and 
fine  qualities  in  you.  The  few  words  spoken  by 
your  sister  and  aunt  oblige  me  to  speak  with  you 
thus.  If  you  deem  it  advisable  to-morrow  before 
the  departure  of  the  hunting  party,  my  mother  will 
have  recalled  me  to  her  by  a  message  under  the  pre- 
text of  severe  indisposition.  I  do  not  wish,  with- 
out your  consent,  to  take  part  at  a  f£te  which  I  owe 
to  your  kindness,  and  where  my  secret,  should  it 


MODESTE  MIGNON  397 

escape  me,  would  pain  you  by  clashing  with  your 
legitimate  claims.  Why  did  I  come  here?  Will 
you  tell  me  ?  I  could  not  refuse  to  accept  the  invi- 
tation. Be  generous  enough  to  excuse  me  from  an 
almost  necessary  curiosity.  This  is  not  the  most 
delicate  part  of  that  which  I  have  to  say  to  you. 
You  have  in  my  father  and  me  truer  friends  than 
you  think ;  and  as  my  fortune  was  the  first  motive 
in  your  thoughts  when  you  came  to  me,  without 
wishing  to  make  use  of  this  as  a  balm  to  your  sor- 
row which  you  have  gallantly  testified,  know  that 
my  father  is  busying  himself  about  the  matter  of 
Herouville.  His  friend  Dumay  thinks  it  feasible, 
and  he  has  already  taken  steps  to  form  a  company. 
Gobenheim,  Dumay,  and  my  father  offer  fifteen 
hundred  thousand  francs,  and  take  upon  themselves 
to  acquire  the  remainder  by  the  confidence  which 
they  inspire  in  capitalists  by  taking  this  serious  in- 
terest in  the  business.  If  I  have  not  the  honor  of 
being  the  Duchesse  d'Herouville,  I  am  almost  sure 
of  placing  you  in  a  position  to  choose  her  some  day 
at  pleasure,  in  all  freedom,  in  the  high  circle  where 
she  is.  Oh!  allow  me  to  finish,"  she  said  at  a 
gesture  from  the  duke — 

"Judging  from  your  brother's  emotion,"  said  Ma- 
demoiselle d'Herouville  to  her  niece,  "it  is  easy  to 
see  that  you  have  a  sister." 

— "Monsieur  le  Due,  this  was  decided  by  me  the 
day  of  our  first  horseback  ride  when  I  heard  you 
deplore  your  situation.  That  is  what  I  wished  to 
reveal  to  you.  That  day  my  fate  was  fixed.  If  you 


398  MODESTE  MIGNON 

have  not  found  a  wife,  you  have  found  friends  at 
Ingouville,  if  you  deign  to  accept  us  by  that  title." 

This  little  speech,  premeditated  by  Modeste,  was 
said  with  such  a  charm  of  soul,  that  tears  came  to 
the  eyes  of  the  Grand  Equerry,  who  seized  Modeste's 
hand  and  kissed  it 

"Stay  here  during  the  hunt,"  replied  the  duke, 
"my  lack  of  merit  has  accustomed  me  to  these  re- 
fusals; but,  while  accepting  your  friendship  and 
that  of  the  colonel,  you  must  allow  me  to  assure 
myself  through  the  judgment  of  competent  scientific 
men  that  the  draining  of  the  Herouville  marshes  will 
add  no  risk,  in  fact,  that  they  will  yield  profits  to 
the  company  of  which  you  speak,  before  I  can  agree 
to  accept  this  offer  of  your  friends.  You  are  a 
noble  girl,  however  much  I  may  suffer  in  being  only 
a  friend  to  you,  I  will  glory  in  the  title  and  will 
prove  myself  worthy  to  bear  it  at  all  times  and  in 
all  places." 

"In  any  case,  Monsieur  le  Due,  let  us  keep  our 
secret  My  choice  will  not  be  known,  unless  I  de- 
ceive myself,  until  my  mother's  complete  recovery, 
for  I  wish  that  my  future  husband  and  I  should  be 
blessed  by  her  first  glance." 


"Ladies,"  said  the  Prince  de  Cadignan  just  be- 
fore retiring,  "I  hear  that  several  of  you  intend  to 
follow  the  chase  to-morrow  with  us.  Now  I  believe 
it  my  duty  to  warn  you  that  if  you  intend  to  emu- 
late Diana  you  must  rise  like  Diana  at  daybreak. 
The  meet  is  fixed  for  half-past  eight  I  have  seen 
women,  in  the  course  of  my  life,  show  more  courage 
than  men,  but  for  a  short  time  only,  and  you  will 
need  all  your  strength  to  stay  on  horseback  all  day, 
except  a  short  halt  which  we  will  make  for  break- 
fast, like  true  hunters  and  huntresses  'on  the  nail.' 
Are  you  still  determined  to  show  yourselves  finished 
horsewomen?" 

"For  myself,  prince,  I  must,"  said  Modeste 
adroitly. 

"I  will  answer  for  myself,"  said  the  Duchesse  de 
Chaulieu. 

"I  know  that  my  daughter,  Diane,  is  worthy  of 
her  name,"  replied  the  prince.  "So  you  are  all 
resolute — Nevertheless,  I  shall  arrange  for  the  sake 
of  Madame  and  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  and  those 
who  stay  here  to  drive  the  stag  to  the  bottom  of  the 
pond." 

"Rest  assured,  ladies,"  said  the  Prince  de  Loudon, 
when  the  Prince  de  Cadignan  had  left  the  room, 
"that  the  breakfast  'on  the  nail*  will  take  place  in 
a  magnificent  tent" 

The  next  day,  at  dawn,  there  was  every  reason 

(399) 


400  MODESTE  MIGNON 

to  predict  a  beautiful  day.  The  skies  veiled  by  a 
slight  gray  vapor  showed  spaces  of  pure  blue  and 
the  northwest  winds  which  already  played  with 
these  fleecy  clouds,  promised  to  sweep  them  all 
away  by  midday.  In  setting  out  from  the  chateau, 
the  Master  of  the  Hunt,  the  Prince  de  Loudon  and 
the  Due  de  Rhetore,  who  were  accompanied  by 
ladies,  started  in  advance.  They  noticed  and  ad- 
mired the  white  mass  of  the  chateau  with  its  many 
chimneys  rising  through  the  cloud  of  mists,  against 
a  background  of  red-brown  foliage,  which  the  trees 
of  Normandy  preserve  at  the  close  of  autumn. 

"The  ladies  are  favored  in  having  fine  weather," 
said  the  Due  de  Rhetore  to  the  prince. 

"Oh!  in  spite  of  their  boastings  of  yesterday,  I 
believe  they  will  allow  us  to  go  to  the  chase  with- 
out them,"  replied  the  prince. 

"That  might  be  if  each  had  not  an  escort,"  said 
the  duke. 

At  this  moment,  these  two  determined  huntsmen 
— for  the  Prince  de  Loudon  and  the  Due  de  Rhetore 
were  of  the  race  of  Nimrod  and  had  the  reputation 
of  being  the  finest  shots  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main— heard  the  noise  of  an  altercation  and  they 
put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  galloped  toward  the 
round  point  chosen  for  the  meet,  which  was  at  one 
of  the  entrances  of  the  Rosembray  woods,  and 
famous  for  its  mossy  turf.  The  quarrel  arose  from 
the  fact  that  the  Prince  de  Loudon,  who  was  an 
anglomaniac,  had  placed  under  the  orders  of  the 
Master  of  the  Hunt,  a  hunting  arrangement  entirely 


MODESTE  MIGNON  401 

Britannic.  Now,  a  young  Englishman  of  small 
build,  blond,  pale,  with  an  indifferent,  phlegmatic 
air,  speaking  hardly  a  word  of  French,  and  dressed 
with  a  neatness  which  distinguishes  all  English- 
men, even  those  of  the  middle-class,  had  put  him- 
self at  one  side  of  the  round  point  John  Barry 
wore  a  short  frock  coat,  close  fitting,  of  scarlet  cloth 
with  silk  buttons,  on  which  were  the  De  Verneuil 
arms,  white  leather  breeches,  top  boots,  a  striped 
waistcoat  and  a  cape  and  collar  of  black  velvet  He 
held  in  his  hand  a  small  hunting  whip,  and  had  on 
his  left  side  a  brass  horn  attached  by  a  silk  cord. 
This  first  whipper-in  was  accompanied  by  two  large 
thoroughbred  hounds,  veritable  foxhounds,  with 
white  and  liver-colored  skins,  long  hind  legs,  deli- 
cate noses,  small  heads  and  little  high-placed  ears. 
This  whipper-in,  one  of  the  most  celebrated  of  the 
country  from  which  the  prince  had  brought  him  at 
great  expense,  commanded  a  hunting  establishment 
of  fifteen  horses  and  sixty  English  thoroughbred 
dogs,  which  cost  the  Due  de  Verneuil  an  enormous 
amount  of  money.  He  really  cared  little  for  hunt- 
ing, but  indulged  his  son  in  this  essentially  royal 
taste.  The  subordinates,  men  and  horses,  stood  at 
a  respectful  distance  in  perfect  silence. 

Now,  upon  arriving  on  the  ground,  John  saw  that 
three  whippers-in,  at  the  head  of  two  royal  packs, 
had  arrived  before  him.  They  had  come  in  car- 
riages and  were  the  three  best  whippers-in  of  the 
Prince  de  Cadignan  and  their  appearance  on  account 
of  their  manners  and  French  costumes  formed  a 
26 


402  MODESTE  MIGNON 

marked  contrast  to  the  representative  of  insolent 
Albion.  These  favorites  of  the  prince,  all  wearing 
their  three-cornered  laced  hats,  very  flat  and  broad, 
under  which  grinned  their  sun-burnt  furrowed  faces, 
illuminated  by  sparkling  eyes,  were  remarkably 
lean,  thin  and  nervous,  like  persons  consumed  by 
the  passion  for  hunting.  Each  one  was  provided 
with  three  great  hunting  horns  a  la  Dampierre, 
which  were  ornamented  with  heavy  green  cord 
which  only  allowed  the  brass  mouthpiece  to  be  visi- 
ble. They  controlled  their  dogs  by  the  eye  and 
voice.  These  noble  beasts  formed  an  assembly  of 
subjects  more  faithful  than  those  whom  the  king 
was  then  addressing.  They  were  all  spotted  with 
white,  brown  or  black,  each  having  a  face  as  intelli- 
gent as  the  soldiers  of  Napoleon ;  the  slightest  sound 
illumined  the  pupils  of  their  eyes  with  a  fire  which 
made  them  resemble  diamonds.  One  of  them  from 
Poitou,  with  short  haunches,  large  shoulders,  low 
joints  and  long  ears;  another  from  England,  white, 
like  a  greyhound  with  small  belly,  little  ears  and 
modeled  for  running;  all  the  young  ones  impatient 
and  nervous  to  start,  while  the  old  ones,  marked 
with  wounds,  lay  flat  and  quiet  with  their  heads 
on  their  front  paws  and  listening,  like  savages,  at 
the  ground. 

Seeing  the  Englishman  approach,  the  dogs  and  the 
king's  followers  looked  at  one  another  as  much  as  to 
say: 

"Are  we  then  not  to  hunt  alone? — will  not  the 
service  of  His  Majesty  be  compromised?" 


MODESTE  MIGNON 


403 


After  commencing  by  pleasantries,  the  discussion 
became  heated  between  Monsieur  Jacquin  la 
Roulie,  the  old  chief  of  the  French  whippers-in,  and 
John  Barry,  the  young  Islander. 

From  afar  off  the  two  princes  divined  the  subject 
of  this  altercation,  and,  urging  his  horse,  the  Master 
of  the  Hounds  quieted  everything  by  asking  in  an 
imperative  voice : 

"Who  has  beaten  the  woods?" 

"I,  my  lord,"  said  the  Englishman. 

"Good,"  said  the  Prince  de  Cadignan  as  he 
listened  to  John  Barry's  report 

Horses,  dogs,  everyone  became  respectful  to  the 
Master  of  the  Hounds  as  if  all  equally  recognized 
his  supreme  authority.  The  prince  arranged  the 
day.  For  a  hunt  is  like  a  battle  and  the  Master  of 
the  Hounds  of  Charles  X.  was  the  Napoleon  of  the 
forest.  Thanks  to  the  admirable  order  introduced 
into  the  hunting  train  by  him  the  master  could  oc- 
cupy himself  exclusively  with  the  strategy  and 
high  science  of  it  He  understood  how  to  assign 
its  place  in  the  disposition  of  the  day's  work  to  the 
hunting  party  of  the  Prince  de  Loudon  by  reserving 
it,  like  a  cavalry  corps,  to  beat  up  the  stag  toward 
the  pond ;  if  as  he  expected,  the  royal  pack  suc- 
ceeded in  driving  him  into  the  Crown  forest  which 
bordered  the  horizon  in  front  of  the  chateau.  The 
Master  of  the  Hounds  knew  how  to  treat  with  con- 
sideration the  self-love  of  his  old  servants  by  con- 
fiding to  them  the  hardest  work;  and  that  of  the 
Englishman,  whom  he  made  use  of  in  his  specialty, 


404  MODESTE  MIGNON 

by  giving  him  an  opportunity  to  show  the  prowess 
of  his  dogs'  and  horses'  legs.  The  two  systems 
would  thus  be  in  competition  and  do  wonders  in 
emulation  of  each  other. 

"Does  Monseigneur  still  order  us  to  wait?"  asked 
La  Roulie  respectfully. 

"I  understand  you,  old  fellow!"  replied  the 
prince,  "it  is  late,  but — " 

"Here  are  the  ladies,  for  Jupiter  scents  the  odors  of 
the  fetiches /'said  the  second  whipper-in,  as  he  noticed 
the  way  that  his  favorite  dog  was  taking  to  the  scent 

"Fetiches?"  said  the  Prince  de  Loudon  with  a 
smile. 

"Perhaps  he  wanted  to  say  fetid,"  said  the  Due 
de  Rhetore. 

"That  is  it  indeed,  for  everything  which  does  not 
smell  of  the  kennels,  is  infectious  according  to 
Monsieur  Laravine,"  replied  the  Master  of  the 
Hounds. 

The  three  lords  did  indeed  see  afar  off  a  squadron 
composed  of  sixteen  horses,  at  the  head  of  which 
floated  the  green  veils  of  the  four  ladies.  Modeste, 
accompanied  by  her  father,  the  Grand  Equerry  and 
the  little  La  Briere,  was  in  advance  at  the  side  of 
the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse,  who  was  escorted 
by  the  Vicomte  de  Serizy.  Then  came  the  Duch- 
esse de  Chaulieu  flanked  by  Canal  is  upon  whom 
she  was  smiling,  without  a  trace  of  rancor.  Upon 
arriving  at  the  cross-roads,  where  the  huntsmen, 
dressed  in  red  and  armed  with  their  hunting  horns, 
surrounded  by  dogs  and  whippers-in,  formed  a 


MODESTE  MIGNON  405 

picture  worthy  of  the  brush  of  a  Van  der  Meulen; 
the  Duchesse  de  Chaulieu,  who  sat  admirably  well 
on  her  horse,  in  spite  of  her  plumpness,  approached 
Modeste  as  she  found  it  inconsistent  with  her  dignity 
to  sulk  any  longer  with  this  young  person,  to  whom 
she  had  not  spoken  a  word  the  evening  before. 

Just  as  the  Master  of  the  Hounds  finished  compli- 
menting the  ladies  upon  their  fabulous  punctuality, 
Eleonore  deigned  to  notice  the  magnificent  whip- 
handle  which  sparkled  in  Modeste's  tiny  hand  and 
graciously  asked  permission  to  inspect  it 

"This  is  the  most  magnificent  of  its  kind  that  I 
have  ever  seen,"  she  said  as  she  showed  this  mas- 
terpiece to  Diane  de  Maufrigneuse,  "and  besides,  it 
is  in  harmony  with  the  entire  person,"  she  added, 
as  she  handed  it  back  to  Modeste. 

"You  must  own,  Madame  la  Duchesse,"  replied 
Mademoiselle  de  la  Bastie,  as  she  cast  a  tender  and 
mischievous  glance  at  La  Briere,  in  which  the  lover 
read  an  avowal,  "that  it  is  a  very  singular  gift  from 
one's  future  husband." 

"But,"  said  Madame  de  Maufrigneuse,  "I  should 
take  it  as  a  declaration  of  my  rights  in  remembrance 
of  Louis  XIV." 

Tears  came  into  La  Briere's  eyes  and  hedropped  his 
horse's  rein,  and  seemed  about  to  fall ;  but  a  second 
glance  from  Modeste  gave  him  back  his  strength  in 
commanding  him  not  to  betray  his  happiness. 

As  they  started  off  the  Due  d'Herouville  said  in 
a  low  voice  to  the  young  auditor : 

"I   hope,    monsieur,  you  will   make  your  wife 


406  MODESTE  MIGNON 

happy  and  if  I  can  be  useful  to  you  in  anything, 
command  me,  for  I  would  like  to  be  able  to  contrib- 
ute to  the  happiness  of  so  charming  a  pair." 

This  great  day,  in  which  such  tremendous  inter- 
ests of  heart  and  fortune  were  decided,  offered  to  the 
Master  of  the  Hounds  only  one  problem.  That  of 
knowing  if  the  stag  would  traverse  the  pond  to  die 
on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  chateau ;  for  celebrated 
huntsmen  are  like  chess-players,  who  predict  the 
checkmate  on  a  particular  square.  This  fortunate 
old  man  succeeded  beyond  his  hopes;  he  made  a 
magnificent  chase  and  the  ladies  released  him  from 
his  attendance  upon  them  the  following  day — which, 
however,  was  rainy. 

The  Due  de  Verneuil's  guests  remained  five  days 
at  Rosembray.  The  last  day,  the  Gazette  de  France 
contained  the  announcement  of  the  nomination  of 
Monsieur  le  Baron  de  Canal  is  to  the  rank  of  Com- 
mander of  the  Legion  of  Honor  and  to  the  post  of 
Minister  at  Carlsruhe. 

When,  during  the  first  days  of  December,  Madame 
the  Comtesse  de  la  Bastie,  having  been  operated 
upon  by  Desplein,  could  at  last  see  Ernest  de  la 
Briere,  she  pressed  Modeste's  hand  and  said  in  her 
ear: 

"I  should  have  chosen  him  myself." 

Toward  the  end  of  February,  all  the  deeds  of 
purchase  were  signed  by  the  worthy  and  excellent 
Latournelle,  the  attorney  of  Monsieur  Mignon  in 
Provence.  The  family  of  La  Bastie  obtained  from 
the  king  the  distinguished  honor  of  his  signature  to 


MODESTE  MIGNON  407 

the  contract  of  marriage  and  the  transmission  of  the 
title  and  the  arms  of  La  Bastie  to  Ernest  de  la 
Briere,  who  was  authorized  to  call  himself  the  Vi- 
comte  de  la  Bastie  la  Briere.  The  estate  of  La  Bas- 
tie, raised  again  to  an  income  of  more  than  one 
hundred  thousand  francs,  was  converted  into  an 
entailed  estate  through  letters  patent  which  the 
Royal  Court  registered  toward  the  end  of  April. 
The  witnesses  for  La  Briere  were  Canal  is  and  the 
Minister  for  whom  he  had  been  private  secretary 
for  five  years.  Those  for  the  bride  were  the  Due 
d'Herouville  and  Desplein,  to  whom  the  Mignons 
were  deeply  grateful,  after  having  given  him  mag- 
nificent testimonials. 

Later,  perhaps,  we  shall  see  again  in  the  course 
of  this  long  history  of  our  manners  and  customs, 
Monsieur  and  Madame  de  la  Briere  la  Bastie.  Good 
judges  will  then  remark,  how  sweet  is  married  life 
and  how  easy  its  yoke,  with  an  intelligent  and 
educated  wife.  For  Modeste,  who  knew  how  to 
avoid,  according  to  her  promise,  the  follies  of 
pedantry,  is  still  the  pride  and  joy  of  her  husband, 
as  of  her  family  and  all  who  compose  her  world. 

Paris,  March— July,  1844. 


LIST  OF    ETCHINGS 


VOLUME   XIV 

PAGE 

COLONEL  MIGNON  AND  DUMAY Fronts. 

MODESTE  MIGNON  TO  CANALIS 80 

CANALIS,  LA  BR1ERE  AND  MODESTE'S  LETTER  .    .    .  *   88 

M.  BUTSCHA  AND  THE  POSTMAN 168 

CANALIS  BETWEEN  MODESTE  AND  THE  DUCHESSE  .    384 


14  N.  &  R.,  Mig.  409 


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